Ostriches Are Not Your Friends, and Neither Is School

     Today we went on a safari. For those of you who have never been to West Africa, (aka the sad, pitiful ones) this is not exactly like a safari you'd see in the movies. You get in a car, it's hot, there's no roof, you're out there for hours, there absolutely no breeze and the air that does blow is hot air, and there's not even a guarantee you'll see animals. Luckily, we did today though. We stated out by driving out to the game park, and all got out to pay. We decided to take the park car for some people, and everyone else would pile in our pickup truck. We went into their little solar-powered hut where I spent most of the time anylising the solar panels and how they work. We paid for the truck, were the guide started out by telling us we had to pay at least twice what the actual price was, then when dad just talked for a long time and got him down to the actual price, he threw his hands in the air complaining that's what he was saying the whole time. 

     We started driving, and unlike normal safaris, the animals were all just congregated in one area like at the Disneyworld ride. We saw Rone Antelope, Cape Buffalo, Zebras(imported from East Africa), Cob, and Waterbuck, plus several birds and a few snakes in the lake. At the end of the tour, we stopped by a big fenced in area, where an ostrich strutted out to meet us. We got very close, and I had to yell, "Remember, they hate us! They're not your friend!" before someone stuck their finger out at him. He posed for a few pictures, ruffled his feathers, and flounced around as if he was simply a gorgeous subject, and why wouldn't they want to photograph him? Then we went and sat on some tortises and ate lunch and had a generally typical day. 

    

     I admit I also had a bit of an episode the other day. You see, people say I'm a bit like Rory Gilmore. Okay, a lot like Rory Gilmore. Except when it comes to morals. Anyway, so what would Rory Gilmore do if she failed a test? I mean, she never fails tests and this is the first one in years. But she freaks out anyway. I was checking my grades in the middle of a movie the other night and I admit I started hyperventilating. I debated between facing the fire head-on and telling my parents right away, or just hoping they would never find out. Sadly, I did the right thing. I flopped face-down on my bed and wailed for a good ten minutes about how I will never get into an Ivy League school now, I'll have to work at a beauty parlor and marry someone named Bud because a lot of Buds have mysterious pasts and marry beauty parlor girls. I'll never get to be a wonderful journalist and end poverty! Mom did a fairly good job of comforting me though the laughing about beauty parlors didn't help. In my defense, I will say that maybe Rory Gilmore would have aced such a presumably easy (but obviously ferocious) test, but I also know Rory Gilmore doesn't speak French. 

     Aside from my brief panic session about my potential future as a hair stylist, not much has been different around here. I've taught the interns some valuable lessons about when to run from a strange-looking animal and when to cuddle it. I also named all of our bunnies. It's funny, while I was waiting for the babies to be born, it felt like forever. Then when I thought about it, last month we had three bunnies, and now we have twelve. Imogene Herdman gave birth to six adorable babies, four light brown ones named Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy, a fat gray one named Paul Blart, and a tiny ginger one named Nancy Drew. We also acquired three new adults, Darcy, Elizabeth, and Eyowen, who is an albino. Another piece of news about the bunnies is what I noticed about their habits. Every once in a while, we'll open the cages and close the gates, so they're all free to hop about in the backyard. Some of them, like Eponine and Eyowen sort of wallow around aimlessly. Eat a bit of grass here, sniff something there. Every once in a while they'll stand up on their hind legs or scratch their noses. Tom Bombadill seems to be a happy, prancy little thing, hopping this way and that around the yard. But when you catch his eye and fein a mischeivisous gleam as if you were going to scoop him up, he just freezes and watches you. It's quite comical actually. Especially if he's in mid-hop, and paralyzes himself, dropping to the ground in a leaping position, as if he were a statue. The babies are getting more energetic too, except for Susan who just sleeps a lot. And Paul Blart, who gets fatter by the day and therefore, logically does a lot of eating. 

     Other than that, the only thing I've really got my mind on is our trip to England in... Eight months. I'm trying not to get to excited, but I've secretly been not trying and all that comes of my evened out efforts is constant talk of what the weather will be like and whether we'll have coffee every morning. But I don't want to write about it because then I'll get even more excited. And then I will do nothing but watch Judi Dench movies all day and speak only in Maggie Smith and Mary Poppins quotes. Hm, perhaps re-watching all of Downton Abbey isn't helping on second thought...