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Dear Dumb Diary #3: Am I the Princess or the Frog?

Page 2

by Jim Benton


  Poisoning.

  23

  Mike Pinsetti gurgled up to the table while

  Isabella and I were eating.

  Mike Pinsetti, you might remember, is the

  official nicknamer of the school. He has some sort

  of evil talent for coming up with nicknames that

  sting and stick. Here are just a few of his creations:

  24

  Anyway, I made the mistake of accidentally

  smiling at him once, and I’m afraid that now he is

  under the delusion that I think of him as, you

  know . . .

  25

  So Pinsetti is standing there with Isabella,

  and I’m just staring at him and I think he’s trying to

  say something to me. But just as I went to perform

  Dirty Look Number Four, Angeline walks past

  and I’m sure she flipped a blast of weapons -grade

  Raspberry Wonderfulness directly at us

  from one of her many alleged Shampoo Zones.

  Pinsetti and I are both momentarily stunned

  by the irresistible deliciousness of Angeline’s attack

  and, against our will, we both sort of smile

  because —I mean, let’s be real —you can’t help but

  smile a little when you are awash in a cloud of

  Raspberry Wonderfulness.

  26

  So then, thanks to Angeline, Pinsetti and I

  are looking into each other’s eyes while the bottom

  halves of our faces are smiling, and we are —I’m

  going to be sick —sharing this moment. And at

  the same time we’re both trapped inside —I’m

  going to be even sicker — a fog of Angeline’s stink.

  Isabella said she could practically see Pure

  Love squirting out of Pinsetti’s ears. I said it was

  for Angeline, but Isabella said it was for me. So

  don’t be alarmed, Dumb Diary, if I wake up

  screaming several times throughout the night.

  27

  Saturday 07

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  Saturdays are so cool that I will never ever

  figure out why they only made one of them per

  week. Here’s my idea for a whole new lineup

  of days:

  28

  I called Isabella to see if she wanted to do

  something today, but her mom said she was at the

  mall with her dad. I could hardly believe it!

  Isabella has identified the five most embarrassing

  things a dad can do in public, and her dad does four

  of them:

  29

  For the rest of the day, I was grabbing the

  phone every time it rang, figuring it was Isabella

  calling me back. Late in the afternoon, some

  woman who sounded familiar called for Mom, but I

  couldn’t quite place the voice. Afterward, Mom was

  all excited but wouldn’t tell me who it was or why

  she called. Some dumb Mom-thing, I’m sure, like

  they’re going shopping for wind chimes or

  something.

  30

  Sunday 08

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  Saturdays rule! But I really don’t mind

  Sundays, either. They’re sort of like Saturday’s less

  popular and less attractive little sister. She tries to

  be as fun as her older sister, but she still has to

  keep reminding you that you have homework due

  tomorrow and you have nothing to wear and there’s

  a good chance Dad will be hogging the TV all day.

  31

  When I went downstairs for breakfast this

  morning, Mom was bustling around the kitchen all

  giddy and dazed, and said I could have candy for

  breakfast if I would just go eat it in front of the TV.

  For as long as I can remember, Mom has

  practiced this sort of Motherly Irresponsibility

  whenever she wanted me out of the way. One time, I

  walked in on her when she was trying to force her

  Mombutt into an old miniskirt and she was so

  embarrassed, she told me I could go outside and

  throw apples at passing cars if I’d leave her alone.

  I knew her judgment was way off on that one

  so I didn’t take her up on it, but candy for breakfast

  seemed only mildly self-destructive. I accepted her

  terms and let her have her ridiculous secret kitchen

  time.

  32

  Later on, Mom was cooking up a storm. Like

  most storms, we anticipated great devastation in

  its wake. You’ll recall that Mom has cooked up a few

  memorable storms in the past. . . .

  But here’s the weird thing: She cooked it, but

  she never actually inflicted it upon us. We smelled

  her cooking, we heard her cooking. Stinker even

  took the customary precaution of hiding his dog

  dish. But for some reason, Mom just packed it all up

  in a Tupperware container, stuck it in the fridge,

  and ordered a pizza.

  Believe me: Dad and I did not ask questions.

  That would be like reminding your executioner not

  to forget his ax tomorrow.

  33

  Monday 09

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  Today in English class, Mr. Evans started our

  unit on fairy tales. We’re discussing a few old

  favorites in class in order to understand what he

  expects from us on our reports. He started with

  Hansel and Gretel, which is about this witch who

  wants to eat a couple of grimy brats even though

  her entire house is made out of candy. I said that

  she was probably trying to drop a few pounds:

  Children are high protein, low carb.

  34

  Then we discussed Snow White, and Rapunzel

  and Little Red Riding Hood, and when Mr. Evans

  asked us what we thought of these fairy tales, I said

  that it was coming through loud and clear that back

  in olden times, if you had a really weird dumb

  name, you were probably just waiting for something

  disastrous to happen to you. I mean, you never hear

  about Jennifer and the Seven Dwarves or Steve and

  the Three Bears. Mr. Evans probably agreed with me

  deep down, but he bulged his Big Ol’ Ugly Head Vein

  at me a little, anyway.

  35

  Lunchtime, Dumb Diary, was really something

  interesting today. It was even more interesting than

  when the lunch ladies had that dispute that started

  with angry words over who looked better in their

  hairnet, and ended with paramedics siphoning

  cranberry sauce out of a semi-plugged lunch-lady

  esophagus. (Note: In these sorts of situations,

  always bet on the more massive lunch lady.)

  36

  As I said, the school has somebody filling in

  for Miss Bruntford while her organs are healing or

  whatever. His name is Mr. Prince (“Prince!” Couldn’t

  you just die? ) He’s a student teacher, which is a

  person who will become a teacher unless something

  better occurs to them at the last minute.

  He is older without being fully old yet, which

  means he probably shaves more than twice a week

  but still does not have hairy ears.

  37

  Furthermore, Angeline walked right past Mr.

  Prince (Possibly firing Zone after scented Zone at

 
him? It remains a theory.) and he did not even look

  at her, which I think is evidence that he is not into

  that whole gorgeous-with- excellently -perfect -

  blond -hair thing. But who can blame him? Nobody

  really cares.

  Isabella said he is probably into dark- haired

  girls with round glasses, and I had to remind her

  that I don’t wear glasses.

  38

  But Isabella was impolitely hinting that Mr.

  Prince would like her better than me, which is pretty

  rude since I had already started thinking he would

  like me better than her, and I felt like I had to tell

  her so and also execute a mild version of Dirty

  Look Number Three. Plus, I may have pointed

  out how her head is almost a perfect sphere, and

  she is NOTat all secure about her cranial

  roundness .

  39

  This turned out to be a pretty bad idea

  since— and I have shared this with you before,

  Dumb Diary— Isabella has older brothers, which

  means she is very good at all forms of fighting.

  Isabella stood up in the middle of the

  cafeteria, smiled at me and said, with perfect

  sinister cruelty: “Let’s see how he likes you when he

  sees your picture hanging up in the cafeteria side -

  by-side with your dumpy little beagle.”

  40

  When I got home, I took a good hard look at

  Stinker. He’s too old and fat to run any more, and

  he does not hesitate to express a sudden and

  extreme interest in his own body parts even when he

  knows you’re right there in the room having a

  conversation with him. I can’t stand the idea of

  being compared to him.

  I’m going to have to sweet- talk Isabella out

  of this project.

  41

  Tuesday 10

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  Okay, you can’t sweet -talk Isabella out of

  anything. I explained to her today that I’m going to

  be totally embarrassed and humiliated when her

  project gets hung up, and instead of understanding

  and agreeing to scrap the whole idea like a best

  friend should, Isabella pretended to cry and said I

  was criticizing her art project.

  When somebody actually pretends to cry as

  good as Isabella can pretend, and they really very

  nearly appear sad, you just have to back off.

  In my defense, Isabella’s pretend crying is

  better than most people’s real crying, a skill she

  likely perfected to get her older brothers in trouble.

  42

  I thought about asking Isabella over for

  dinner, to take another crack at changing her mind,

  but Isabella, like all of my friends, sort of doesn’t

  know how to interpret a dinner invitation.

  Everybody is aware of my mom’s cooking

  challenges, even the teachers.

  It’s like if you were Dracula’s kid and you

  asked somebody over for a neck massage.

  43

  None of this really matters much, because I

  had a long conversation over lunch today with Mr.

  Prince. (Couldn’t You Just Die?)

  It happened as I was taking my tray to the

  trash. I had done a particularly thorough job of

  abusing my leftover food today. I had shoved the

  macaroni and cheese into a large wad, stuck a

  carrot stick straight up in it, and dumped chocolate

  milk over the whole thing.

  Mr. Prince (C.Y.J.D.?) was standing by the

  trash, and when I went to slide it in, he looked at it

  and said, “That a model of the Eiffel Tower?” and

  kind of laughed a little.

  “Sí,” I said, not wanting to Miss out on his

  reference to All Things French. And then I threw my

  garbage in the can and ran away.

  44

  Okay, Dumb Diary, I know. I know. Strictly

  speaking, “sí” is not exactly French for “yes.” It’s

  Spanish. But Spain and France are sort of the same

  big CountryOverThere and I was a bit flustered that

  he wanted to have a long conversation with me.

  Besides, I’m confident he knows that, even though I

  didn’t actually speak French, I implied French.

  It was a moment, Dumb Diary. We shared a

  moment.

  45

  Wednesday 11

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  Art class today. Angeline has collected

  almost half of the teacher’s childhood pictures

  already. I did my part of the project by pasting

  them to the poster board and writing the teacher’s

  name underneath each one.

  I noticed that the really ugly teachers gave

  pictures of themselves as little kids, before the Ugly

  reached its advanced stages.

  46

  Miss Anderson’s picture just happens to be

  from when she was about seventeen and a half. She

  just happened to be at the beach and she just

  happened to be in an adorable pose. I have seen so

  many pictures of these adorable poses that I’m

  starting to think that really pretty girls stay in these

  poses all the time, just in case somebody whips out

  a camera.

  47

  Miss Anderson reminded us that we all had to

  get in our pictures for Isabella’s project and that if

  somebody doesn’t have a pet, they could just give

  Isabella a picture of an animal they resemble.

  Of course, I saw my opportunity here, and

  after dinner I encouraged Stinker to run away from

  home. I might have gotten away with it except that

  the neighbors across the street called my parents to

  report that I had left the front door open and that I

  had thrown about twelve dollars worth of pork

  chops across the street onto their lawn.

  48

  Seriously. “Why wouldn’t a fat ugly beagle

  chase after twelve dollars worth of pork chops?” I

  screamed as I picked up the raw chops and put

  them in a trash bag, out in the rain, alone in the

  dark. The neighbors watched me from behind their

  curtains like the timid, tattletaling turds they are.

  Anyway, now that I think about it, even if

  Stinker had run away from home, he might only be

  gone three or four days. He’s done it before, and

  that’s usually how long it takes before he decides to

  come back.

  49

  Thursday 12

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  Mr. Evans had to remind us again today that

  our fairy-tale report is due in a couple of weeks.

  Then we read a few more fairy tales and talked

  about them.

  We started with The Princess and the Pea,

  which is probably the most exciting and thrilling

  story ever written about somebody having mild

  insomnia. I said that it teaches us that you

  probably don’t want to sleep in a bed that

  somebody has pead.

  This sounds a lot different than it looks

  when you write it, but I think Mr. Evans cut me some

  slack because now he thinks I have seizures.

  Hey, Dumb D, here’s something new: This was

  the first Thurs
day since I’ve been at Mackerel

  Middle School when we were not forcibly

  meatloafed. We were all sort of mystified, but

  nobody was complaining.

  And here is something else new (although it

  really shouldn’t be) . When I went to my locker

  today, somebody had romantically slid a note in

  through the odor vents.

  I can hardly believe it! Here it is:

  51

  CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? “M.P.” It’s from

  Mr. Prince! I would love to smash this note in

  Angeline’s face and also smash it slightly lighter in

  Isabella’s. It’s ME that he noticed. Not Blondie, Not

  Sphere-Head. ME!And even though he knows that

  we can never be together— because I am normal-

  aged and he is old —he still needed to give his

  heart voice. How he must suffer and ache. I wonder

  if he yearned for me. This could be the first time I

  had caused a yearn. (Or is that a “yearning”?

  “yearnfulness”? “yearnation”?)

  I showed the poem to Isabella and I think she

  may be a little jealous. I wonder if Mr. Prince would

  wait for me to grow up?

  52

  Friday 13

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  I forgave Isabella again. It’s amazing how

  just knowing that Mr. Prince wrote me a love poem

  makes me feel so confident. Isabella’s meanness to

  me kind of dissolved away like blueberry stains on a

  denture commercial. (Note to old people: There are

 

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