mousapelli | A disturbing moment with the headmaster

During the senior awards ceremony, the last award for the TDF department got skipped accidentally, but the guy who was supposed to receive it was still standing on the edge of the stage. Meanwhile, the announcer kept right on going to Women's Studies, extolling the virtues of the clearly feminist award and how the recipient had furthered women's rights, blah blah blah...

So I was telling this story to someone who hadn't been there, and i couldn't remember the actual name of the girly award, so I called it the "Cynthia Plath Vagina Award".

SocioFemme: oh god

mousapelli: eh?

SocioFemme: dean trachte's office just called to
ask me to send them a copy of my resume

SocioFemme: i'm a little wigged out -- that means
i'm in the running for the williamson

SocioFemme: *panics*

mousapelli: hoo hoo hoo hoo

SocioFemme: gah! i'm freaking out

SocioFemme: i don't want it, not really, but i
don't want to NOT get it, either

SocioFemme: like, it would be better if i wasn't
under consideration at all

mousapelli: feh, don't tell anybody about it then, and nobody will ask you

mousapelli: you can sort of forget for a while

mousapelli: or better yet, channel your frustration into a fic about
Hermione's desperate desire for Hogwart's most prestigious award

SocioFemme: hahaha! I will!

mousapelli: the "Cynthia Plath Vagina Award"

SocioFemme: HAAHHAHAHAHAH

SocioFemme: I'm SO SURE

mousapelli: the Albus Dumbledore Vagina Award

mousapelli: can you imagine his speech?

SocioFemme: I DON'T WANT TO

mousapelli: "I had one of those once...spell gone hideously awry, you remember
that, Minerva?"

mousapelli: "good times, good
times."

SocioFemme: OMG MY EYES KILL ME NOW

SocioFemme: I AM DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU KILLING ME

mousapelli: *howls with laughter*

i would die if somebody wrote this fic.

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From:

sociofemme.livejournal.com

"Oh, but what if I don't get it?" fretted Hermione. "I'm not sure I want it, you know, but it would be awful if they gave it to Padma or Pansy. But maybe they deserve it more--how do they decide how it's given out?" she appealed to Ron.

He shrugged. "Not like anyone from my family's been eligible yet," he muttered uncomfortably. "'S only given to girls, remember?"

"I know, but surely you must have some idea?" Hermione twisted her hair in her fingers, and had to tug them free with a hard jerk once she realised what she'd done. She immediately twined her hand through her hair again. She turned to Harry. "Do you know, Harry?"

He looked baffled. "Me? How would I know? Surely you've read about it somewhere?"

"Yes," she wailed. "Everywhere! But all the books ever say is the girl's remarkable achievements and general wonderfulness--not the selection criteria! And I don't know how some girls managed to breathe, let alone take ten NEWTs and be Quidditch Captain and volunteer at St. Mungo's and--" she ran out of breath, and inhaled deeply. "And sport is important, nearly everyone who got it did sport, but I couldn't! Voldemort!"

"Voldemort was a sport," said Harry wryly. "A tourney every spring, and training the whole rest of the year." Ron snickered.

"Be serious," Hermione snapped. "I haven't done nearly enough community service, either. What are they going to give it to me for, my sunny personality?" She caught the look Ron shot Harry and smacked him on the arm. "Ron!"

He jumped. "What?" His look of false innocence was utterly unconvincing. She couldn't help herself--she started giggling.