Summer

Summer, in our family, means watching movies all day, doing nothing productive, faffing about in the local park (which, by the way, they fixed up. They re-did the whole thing! It’s pretty but so babyish now), fighting until we’re at each other’s throats, 10 penny ice pops, long sleepovers at My Weird and Abnormal Cousin S’s house and mosque.

In our family, only the boys go to Mosque every week day. Us girls stopped as soon as we started high school,  because my mummy thought it would be too much to handle all at once. However, come summer holidays, she gets sick of the fact that none of us can be dragged out of bed before 12 PM (or 1 PM in my case). To solve this annoying problem, she puts us in mosque, Every. Single. Summer.

Now, in case you’re not familiar with mosque timings in the holidays: they start at 10 o’clock. That’s right people. 10 o’ frikkin’ clock. Ergo, my mum throws us out of bed at 9 AM and we start getting ready. It kills us to be awake so early! It’s the holidays, for Pete’s sake! But my darling mother will not be deterred. She is a force to be reckoned with, is my mum. So, against our will, grumbling, moaning and whining, we trudge to mosque at the ungodly hour of 10 in the morning.

Now, before you start saying I should be enthusiastic about going to mosque because I get to learn about my religion and pray Qur’an and what not, let me interrupt you. We hardly do anything. Oh sure, we pray a little Qur’an and learn a little about our religion, but really, it’s not anything I didn’t know before. And hello, the mosque is chock-a-block full of little kids. They fight and pull each other’s scarves off, cry, sidle up to me and tell me I look very pretty, keep staring at me (this part is very creepy!), giggle and gossip. The mosque aunties yell for order, but end up chatting amongst themselves. Me? I sit there staring at the clock, waiting for 12 o’clock so I can go home already.

It’s sickening.

Yesterday it was announced that, come Monday, we will be starting mosque again.

Good God.