What’s up, diary?
Now I’m tired of Arnold. Arnold Martin. My so-called best friend. He was here all week-end, and last night he snored. I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep.
“Arnold! You’re snoring!” I said.
“Of course,” Arnold said. “I’m sleeping.”
Then he started snoring again. I had to go sleep on the couch. Great. The couch is made of itchy fabric. And the pump in the fish tank was buzzing almost as loud as Arnold’s snoring. Double great.
“You have to go home now,” I lied when Arnold got up. “Grandma is coming over for breakfast.”
Arnold left. I relaxed. Then the door-bell rang. It was Grandma who was coming over for breakfast.
“It’s just like I said,” I said angrily.
“Huh?” Grandma said.
“To get rid of Arnold,” I said.
Grandma looked confused. I turned around and walked away.
Grandma wanted to know what was wrong with me. Mom said I was in puberty. But I wasn’t in puberty at all. I was in my room trying to get some peace and quiet.
Whenever Grandma runs out of money, she comes over to our house to eat. At least, that’s what Dad says. Sometimes Dad’s mouth turns on before his brain does. Like last summer when he ran into one of his old girlfriends.
“Hey, congratulations!” Dad said and patted her on the stomach.
“Congratulations for what?” she wondered, surprised.
“Well, I see you’re pregnant.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Bye,” Dad said and turned bright red. My brilliant dad is an optician and sells glasses and contacts. Glasses are cool. The most intelligent and important people in history have worn glasses. I, for example, wear glasses.
Bye for now,
don’t have a cow!