I sat there for, like, an hour, thinking: This is too extra.

When I stopped thinking, it was way too late for Primark, and I didn’t want to ask Kate to drive me over to Kingston.

Shit.

Saturday, February 10 #PhoebesGotNoTalent

8:00 A.M.

The internet says to dress “smart casual” for job interviews, which apparently means fancy trousers or skirt and a blouse. I don’t own anything like that, apart from my school uniform. Someone help me.

8:25 A.M.

I told Kate that I’ve got nothing to wear, and she was like: “You’re telling me this now?”

So I’m going to the thrift shop with her to see if we can find me something from a donation bag.

You know that saying “Life is hard, but it’s even harder when you’re stupid”?

Totally me right now.

7:14 P.M.

Things did not go well.

I ended up going to that ridiculous audition in a dead man’s skinny-fit lilac shirt from M&S and my school trousers. I looked like an absolute dick.

When I got to Dream Bear Factory, it turned out that I wasn’t the only person being “auditioned.” There were, like, twenty people there, and they all looked as if they’d been up for hours doing their hair and makeup.

The store manager, a horrendous woman called Sandra, spoke in one of those high-pitched voices old people put on when they talk to babies.

Sandra (forcing a smile that gave me sympathy face-ache): “Welcome, everyone, and thank you beary much (not even lying) for coming. There’s quite a few of you, and unfortunately I only have two weekend positions to give away, but I wish you all the best of luck. Now, let’s all introduce ourselves, using a word starting with the first letter of our name, followed by our name. That’s going to make it much easier for us to remember who we are. I’ll start, and I am Silly Sandra.”

In all my life I’ve never wanted for the ground to swallow me up more. I didn’t even listen to what anyone was saying, because I was trying to

a)  think of my word, and

b)  not think about how ridiculous that game was, because Phoebe may start with a P, but you say it like an F, so whatever P word I was going to choose would probably make it more difficult for people to remember my name.

When it was my turn, all I could come up with was Pointless Phoebe.

The guy next to me was Marvelous Max, then there was Terrific Tiffany, and one girl was Beary Enthusiastic Bella (a.k.a. Butt-kiss Bella).

Next we were given a guided tour of all the different stations of bear making.

It’s basically like a shit droid factory: Select the empty shell, take a handful of fluff, make a wish, shove it all in, sew it up, and that’s twenty-five pounds. Ka-ching!