by Jim Benton
enjoy her meat loaf. “I told you that you’d
appreciate my cooking one day,” she said.
116
The kids were sitting down with Mom’s meat
loaf just as Miss Anderson waltzed into the
cafeteria and started hanging up the photo
assignments. The embarrassment was going to be
horrific. I started wondering what my first few
therapists were going to be like.
But then a kid screamed as if something had
stabbed the inside of his mouth.
It was the meat loaf!
117
Another kid ran out of the cafeteria covering
his mouth, then another. Mom looked distressed,
but Miss Bruntford looked absolutely delighted.
Way too delighted.
Delighted as if she had planned it this way all
along . . .
118
Then it all became clear to me. As the
cafeteria emptied itself of sickened kids, I realized
that Miss Bruntford’s diabolical scheme was much
like Isabella’s plan to make herself look better BY
COMPARISON.
Miss Bruntford’s solution was to make the
kids eat an even worse meat loaf recipe. That
way, from that point on, the regular school meat
loaf would seem less horrible BY COMPARISON.
119
The cafeteria was empty of kids now, except
for me and Angeline — who had not yet taken a bite
of her meat loaf. She walked right over to Isabella’s
project, tore off the picture of Stinker, and
replaced it with a different photo she’d pulled out
of her pocket.
It was a photo of a beautiful, stunning,
immaculately groomed beagle like you’d see on the
cover of American Beagle magazine.
“It’s Stinker,” she said.
120
“I found him wandering around near our
garbage cans last night. He was pretty scruffy-
looking, so I washed him up a little. Looked like he
had been dragged, if you can believe it.
“I started out with a warm mineral water
rinse, then a massage with a diluted baby shampoo.
I used a protein - enriched aloe base on his face and
head, slowly moving toward a hydrating sheen
enhancer along his back. I hit his legs with an
herbal, of course, and tipped his tail with a
peroxide scrubbing to bring out the white. Then I
used a multiplex conditioner with some
modifications I made just for the complexities of a
beagle’s coat, and I trimmed him up, too, using my
silver feathering - blade scissors that I bought on
eBay. They only manufactured six of these, and five
of them have never been outside Hollywood.
121
“I figured that this is how he should look in
his photo. He’s at my house right now. You can pick
him up whenever you want.”
She handed me the horrible shot of Stinker
that she had pulled down. It was an Extreme
Makeover Moment.
122
I was floored. I asked Angeline where she
learned dog grooming.
“It’s just like people hair, really. In fact, my
hair is just like Stinker’s. Or worse, it’s like my
mom’s.”
“My mom is as bad at hair as your mom is at
cooking. When I was little, everybody made fun of
me. It was pretty awful. I had to learn how to do my
hair myself. I checked out books, I studied
magazines. I’ve even examined the hair of the
people in front of me at the movies. I learned
everything there was to know. If I didn’t take care
of it myself, it would look just like hers.”
I was actually starting to feel bad for
Angeline.
123
“But there was one kid in kindergarten,”
Angeline continued, “who didn’t make fun of me.”
She pointed to the shot of Miss Bruntford as a kid
on our project.
“Miss Bruntford?” I said.
Angeline pulled down the photo and handed
it to me. “Yeah, right. I can’t believe you let the
joke go this long,” she said. “I was sure you were
going to crack.”
124
I read the back of the picture. Written in
clumsy kindergarten writing, it said, “To Annie from
Jamie.”
It was my handwriting. This wasn’t a picture
of Baby Bruntford. This was a picture of ME ! ! ! !
125
Suddenly, Angeline’s mom DIDlook a little
familiar to me. Maybe I hadseen her before. And
way back then, Angeline’s hair was, well, just as
awful as her mom’s.
I had given Angeline this picture of me in
kindergarten, and she was passing it off as Miss
Bruntford as a joke. Angeline was kidding
around with me! !!!
“We were in kindergarten together,” I said
numbly.
“Yeah,” she said. “You remember. I couldn’t
say ‘Angeline’ very well back then. I had a speech
problem. So I just went by Annie. We moved across
town that summer, so I went to a different
elementary school after that. That’s why we never
saw each other until here at middle school.”
So, were Angeline and I friends or something
in kindergarten? I really can’t remember
kindergarten very well at all.
126
Angeline sat back down and started eating
the meat loaf.
“You’re eating my mom’s meat loaf? I asked
her, and she pointed with her fork at Mom, who was
sitting alone and dejected at a corner table, staring
at piles and piles of her rejected steaming
meatloaf.
I sat down and started eating it, too. I owed
it to Mom. This meat loaf drove Stinker to Angeline,
who gave him his makeover, and it drove the kids
out of the lunchroom long enough for us to take
down the Baby Bruntford photo.
It may be nauseating, but who else’s mom’s
meat loaf can do all that?
127
The bell rang, and as we left the lunchroom, I
put the awful picture of Stinker where the Baby
Bruntford pic had been on our art project. Mom
tried to look like she disapproved, but she was
grateful.
It was a busy day, Dumb D, but since my
fairy-tale report is due tomorrow, we’d better stop
“chatting” now so I can get started on it.
128
Friday 27
Dear Dumb Diary,
Mr. Evans made me give my report first today,
like he always does. I told him I had done my report
on a few different fairy tales.
First, I talked about the witch in Snow White,
and how she used a poison apple to make herself
look better, but she could have just as easily used a
poison meat loaf. Fairy tales remind us that there
really are wicked, mean people walking around.
But fairy tales are short, and they leave out
certain things, like, who do you think had to wash
Rapunzel’s hair after the Prince got his muddy boots
>
all over it? That’s right: Rapunzel did.
And you may think that these Princesses have
it easy, but some of them started out as Ugly
Ducklings, and some of the swans may actually end
up as Ugly Ducklings. Fairies can do that to a swan,
you know.
And then I looked right at Isabella as I
finished up my report, and I said that Hansel and
Gretel made a mistake with the bread crumbs. They
almost got eaten up because of it, but they stuck
together and they got out of the woods in one
piece. And Isabella knew what I meant.
But I had to admit, I’m not sure I ever really
figured out The Frog Prince.
Mr. Evans throbbed only a little, which means
I got a B. Isabella and I made up at lunch, which
was good, since it looks like Mr. Prince is gone
forever, now that Miss Bruntford is back. (I could
just die!) I’m certain he’ll write me when he settles
in at his next job.
I admitted to Isabella that her kitten was the
cutest pet in the photos, and she said that Stinker
had never looked better.
130
I told her about Angeline. Isabella doesn’t
believe Angeline and I ever knew each other in
kindergarten. Except last night after my report, I
dug through my old school stuff and I found a
picture. The writing on the back was unreadable,
but I really think this may be Angeline.
131
I told Angeline I was coming over to get
Stinker tomorrow, and she said she’d do my hair if I
wanted her to.
Think about it: This is like having
Einstein offer to help you with your
math homework.
132
Saturday 28
Dear Dumb Diary,
So I taped that kindergarten picture of
Angeline into my diary and took it over to her house
to ask if it was really her. She said it was, and was
all excited that I keep a diary because she says she
does, too.
133
But then she asked if she could read it.
Awkward, right? Since on one or two
occasions, I may have written something
unpleasant about Angeline, and I REALLY wanted
her to fix my hair. So I said I’d let her read the love
poems that Mr. Prince had sent me, but that was it.
134
Angeline looked a little startled, and read
the first one and smiled. Then she read the second
one and grinned.
“These aren’t from Mr. Prince,” she said.
“What makes you say that?” I asked, getting
angry, but not angry enough to walk away from a
hair makeover.
“I get a lot of notes, Jamie. I can identify
the handwriting of every boy in the school. These
were written by Mike Pinsetti. See? M.P. doesn’t
stand for Mr. Prince, it stands for Mike
Pinsetti.”
For a moment, I thought I could taste
yesterday’s meat loaf.
“See, Pinsetti’s nicknaming skill has two
sides. He’s also a good poet. He’s just good with
words in general.”
Yup, it was yesterday’s meat loaf all right.
“Also, Mr. Prince is dating Miss Anderson. At
first, I’m sure he probably thought she was a bit old
for him, but that picture of her in our art project
may have changed his mind.”
Curse those who can pose adorably!
135
“And by the way, Jamie, if you really do think
that a teacher or any old guy has sent you a poem
like this, he totally belongs in Gross Guy Prison.
You’re in middle school. Seriously. You should
know better.”
136
I didn’t know what to say. Angeline was right.
I weakly flipped to the third poem and, as Angeline
read it, I saw her face totally change.
137
“Take your dog and go,” she said. Just
likethat.
“Go?” I said.
“Go. No cutting. No styling. No highlighting.
No moisturizing. No silkifying. No conditioning, and
definitely NO ZONE SHAMPOOING!” She
handed me Stinker and ushered us out the door,
and I don’t know which one of us was more upset
about leaving.
138
“Angeline, why?” I said. “What did I do?”
“The poem,” she said. “The lousy one. That’s
Hudson’s handwriting. Do you honestly think I’m
going to fix your hair and help you win Hudson
back?”
And she slammed the door.
139
So there IS such a thing as Zone
Shampooing! Can you imagine what I could
have become?
140
Sunday 29
Dear Dumb Diary,
I spoke to Isabella on the phone this morning
and she says that Angeline withholding her hair
technology goes to show that maybe I was right
before: Pretty Maidens ARE the cause of all the
troubles in fairy tales. That, and jealousy.
141
Isabella told me that the reason she had
gone through with the photo assignment is that she
was jealous of me. Weeks ago, when I attempted my
own version of Zone Shampooing on Hudson and
was led away by Mr. Evans, I hadn’t seen Hudson’s
reaction. Isabella saw pure love squirting out of
Hudson’s ears. Zone Shampooing had worked.
142
But not because I had fragranced him. Only
Angeline could have taught me the right way to do
that. But because Hudson thought I was funny.
Then when Isabella saw Pinsetti squirt pure
love out of his ears, too, and she thought Mr.
Prince was sending me poems, she couldn’t help
herself. Isabella turned into The Evil Queen of
Pure Jealous Revenge.
143
After Isabella and I hung up, I tried to figure
out the whole Frog Prince thing.
I was the frog for Mr. Prince, but he was the
Prince for Miss Anderson. I was the frog for Hudson,
then the Princess, and then the frog again. So it
looks like I’m both the Princess and the frog.
144
Later on, the doorbell rang, and I found a
letter on my front porch. I opened it and found this
poem inside:
145
And then I knew that I really was the Princess.
I was the Princess for Mike Pinsetti. Sure, it’s only
Pinsetti, but at least I’M TOTALLY THE
PRINCESS.
146
But then I read the poem again. I don’t have
brown eyes. Nobody in my family has brown eyes.
147
When I flipped the envelope over, I saw it was
addressed to Stinker. I guess the work Angeline did
on Stinker moved Pinsetti to write a poem.
Considering how ugly that little beagle began, I
suppose he is the only real Frog Prince in this whole
dumb fairy tale. And if I have to give up my throne
to somebody he probably deserves it most of all.
Thanks for listening, Dumb Diary
> 148
Think you can handle another
Jamie Kelly diary? Then check out:
Dear Dumb Diary,
Isabella said that she got the information about this
charity online and I could help her collect for it if I
wanted to, so as we made the rounds for the clothes,
we also picked up a few bucks here and there for the
Juvenile Optometry Federation.
Hooray! Now I have a charity to work for. In your face
Angeline—now I’m as gentle and sweet as you, you pig!!
WWW.SCHOLASTIC.COM/DEARDUMBDIARY
scholastic.com/deardumbdiary
deardumbdiary.walden.com
scholastic.com
About Jim Benton
Jim Benton is not a middle -school girl, but do
not hold that against him. He has managed to
make a living out of being funny, anyway.
He is the creator of many licensed properties,
some for big kids, some for little kids, and some
for grown-ups who, frankly, are probably behaving
like little kids.
You may already know his properties: It’s
Happy Bunny™ or Catwad™, and of course you
already know about Dear Dumb Diary.
He’s created a kids’ TV series, designed
clothing, and written books.
Jim Benton lives in Michigan with his spectac-
ular wife and kids. They do not have a dog, and
