What’s up, diary?
It’s now been three days since I’ve talked to my love-bug Nadia. I just can’t forget what she said about the new guy in her class. She’s probably in love with him. Well, I’m certainly not going to call her. She’ll have to call me if she so chooses. On Wednesday I was hurt. On Thursday I was sad. Yesterday I was half dead. Today I’m bitter. And tomorrow I think I will have forgotten Nadia. Today is Saturday. During the weekend, you’re supposed to go around in slippers and a robe and say “Sweetie Pie” if you’re married. I’m not married. More like divorced and forgotten. Arnold spent the night last night. All morning we walked around in slippers and a robe and looked comfortable.
“You two look so comfortable,” Mom said.
“We know,” we said.
During the weekend, everybody is supposed to be respectful to each other. Especially to older people. Arnold and I each put on a hat and went for a weekend stroll. Whenever we met older people, we greeted them respectfully and lifted our hats.
“Good day,” we said.
“Such polite little boys,” one old lady said.
“We sure are.”
“Maybe the polite little boys would like to help me carry my grocery bags?”
“And maybe pigs will fly out of our butts,” we said respectfully and ran away.
Tonight Arnold and I are going to pop popcorn. We’re going to try for a new record. A popcorn-popping-record, that is. If you pop popcorn without a lid, the popcorn flies all over the kitchen. Our record height is 4 feet 7 inches. Then we always have to break a new sprinting record too. To run away from Mom.
Now I’m thinking about Nadia. Even though she’s not here, she’s still here anyway. It’s kind of hard to explain, diary. But if you fell in love with a nice cook book or something, you’d understand.
I’m thinking of you...