Pooey

*superpouts*

Got hold of Dad, the pooey merchant.

Asked about Steve's, oh, and how may reasons do I get not to go (I had to whinge and beg in order to get these reasons), oh, just millions:

• He has booked tickets for the Fantastic Four at 2010
• My room is a mess (I don't count this reason, it's always a mess)
• I haven't taken Tara out
• He doesn't know West Calder
• He doesn't feel inclined to give me a lift
• He won't give me a lift back
• He doesn't know the people going to be there
• He's got a hair appointment and wouldn't be able to give me a lift before 2010 anyway (I volunteered not to go to cinema)
• I'm going to Glasgow early (11am, hello?) tomorrow and doesn't know when I'll be back
• He said he's wanted to go see the F4 for ages and I promised (hah!)
• I could've phoned earlier (how long was I trying for....)
• He gives me enough lifts and petrol bill is over £50 a week (i haven't had lifts in over two weeks, i've been an unsociable worker, and he should know, he employed me!)
• He's mean and a pooey merchant

(the last one was added my me as I hung up the phone)

Pooey.