Dear Dumb Diary Year Two #2: The Super-Nice Are Super-Annoying

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Dear Dumb Diary Year Two #2: The Super-Nice Are Super-Annoying Page 2

by Jim Benton


  human beings, and smell less.

  He didn’t say much today, just sat down and

  started eating a regular old school lunch. I noticed

  right away that none of it came out of his nose. It’s

  hard for a woman not to be impressed by that on

  some level.

  I waited for Sebastian to look over at our

  table so that I could smile in a friendly and pretty

  way. When the opportunity presented itself, I smiled

  at him twice, just in case the first smile didn’t work.

  It wasn’t until later that I realized that, while

  one smile is pleasant, that same smile performed

  twice in a row looks more threatening than smiley,

  and even the teensiest-weensiest bit

  completely insane. Turns out you just can’t smile

  twice.

  Tomorrow. It will go better tomorrow. No

  double-smiling tomorrow.

  Wednesday 04

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  Mrs. Avon, my language arts teacher, is on

  another poetry kick. I’ve come to understand

  that poetry is the art of very carefully not getting

  to the point.

  It’s hard for me to believe that a whole kind

  of writing developed around this. Then again, I also

  have a hard time understanding why there are still

  real kings and queens in the world, but for some

  reason, no jacks.

  Anyway, Mrs. Avon wants us to find

  opportunities to write little poems all month. If you

  ask me, I think that we should be moving away from

  poetry to other important literary forms, like

  bumper stickers.

  I really feel that bumper stickers are the

  future of literature, because some of my friends

  won’t read anything much longer than that.

  I’ll bet I could write a whole movie on a

  bumper sticker.

  After language arts, we had lunch. It’s a

  well-known fact that the teachers and other adults

  at my school use their lunch hour to hide from us

  and renew their energy to handle the remainder of

  the day. (From the smell of it, they use coffee and

  some kind of mushroom-beef casserole to do it.)

  But since Sebastian is the current lunchroom

  monitor, they make him interact with us during that

  time. He actually stopped by our table at lunch

  today and handsomely said hello to all of us.

  He has a way of being very polite without

  acting like some elderly great-aunt, and it makes

  you feel as though you should be polite back.

  Even Isabella noticed it. When he said hello to

  her, I detected her most sophisticated

  grunt in response.

  Pinsetti and Hudson were there, and Yolanda

  may have been there, but if so, she was too dainty

  for me to remember. Angeline was still in the lunch

  line, so I was clearly the most lovely girl at the

  table — in part because Isabella was trying to get a

  pudding container open with her teeth, and in part

  because I had successfully opened my pudding

  container with just my lovely hands and I was

  preparing to enjoy it with a plastic spoon that really

  highlighted the loveliness of my lovely hands.

  Hate if you want to, but the girl knows how

  to handle a pudding spoon.

  I was careful to perform just one smile at

  Sebastian this time, which I think is a good way to

  assure somebody that you are not a freak. Not

  Being A Freak is a good foundation for a

  friendship.

  I also offered him some pudding, which was

  generous, and generosity is another good

  foundation for a friendship.

  I realize now that my offer was not

  accompanied by any words, but consisted more of

  just holding the pudding up toward him, and that

  he may have not interpreted that as an offer, but

  maybe more as somebody — let’s say an imbecile —

  wordlessly communicating something like, “Lookit,

  mister, I gots a pudding. I gots one. It’s here.

  Yuh see?”

  Sebastian smiled and walked away. If Isabella

  hadn’t been so busy trying to spit out little pieces

  of the foil lid from her pudding cup, I’m sure that

  she could have helped out with a little charm. Not

  everybody sees it, but she really is very charming

  when she’s not gnawing a dessert open.

  Thursday 05

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  Handsomeness can do a lot of things, but it

  can’t make meat loaf go away.

  Lunch today was meat loaf again, as it is

  every Thursday. As we sat down to deal with it,

  Sebastian walked past. This time, I knew exactly

  what to do. I pointed at my meat loaf and offered a

  critical observation about its quality.

  “Bleggh. Am I right?” I said, adding

  cleverly, “Uck.”

  It was the type of thing that any handsome

  substitute lunchroom monitor should have

  responded favorably to.

  “Erk,” you might expect him to respond. But

  he didn’t. He just eyeballed me as if I was a twice-

  smiler or pudding-thruster and kept walking.

  Then Angeline did the most horrible thing.

  She used some sort of otherworldly power,

  such as you might see in a vampire, or a demon

  cobra, or an annoying blond demon nice

  vampire cobra, and she spoke right to him, as

  if she knew him or something.

  “Hi, Sebastian. Would you like to join us for

  lunch?” she asked nicely.

  He stopped, smiled, and did the most

  amazing thing back.

  “Yes, I would, thank you,” he said nicely,

  sitting down.

  SERIOUSLY, WHAT THE HECK WAS

  THAT??

  I am not leaving anything out here, Dumb

  Diary. It was that simple. She asked nicely, he sat

  nicely. Isabella was so surprised that she let a Tater

  Tot fall from her mouth. (Pinsetti let several fall

  from his, but no one batted an eye at that.)

  Sebastian was MY discovery. I’m the one

  who’s been putting in the time to make contact

  with him. I baited the hook, dropped it in the water,

  and now look who reels it in. And I don’t even like

  fishing, Angeline. It’s very rude to make me use it as

  an example.

  I try and try to be friends with Angeline, and

  every single time, she has to do something just to

  annoy me, like have a nice personality.

  Anyway, Sebastian made conversation, and

  I did, too. I even made sure to use words and to

  keep my facial expressions to the normal number.

  (The normal number is one per expression,

  by the way.)

  Isabella didn’t contribute much, except when

  she started talking about her Grandma’s infected

  foot. It’s really a pretty interesting story, full of

  unusual bacon-grease ointments and a surprise

  ending, where we frightened her grandma badly

  with a scary face I drew on the foot while she was

  sleeping.

  It was clear that the story was disturbing


  Sebastian somewhat, and Angeline changed the

  subject abruptly to some movie she saw and how

  much she liked the actress in it.

  “She really is a delicate and well-mannered

  creature of grace, isn’t she?” Sebastian said about

  the actress. “So poised and charming.”

  It was such a beautiful thing to say that I

  horked a little. In fact, I almost horked meat loaf

  out of my esophagus. (Beautiful words of this

  intensity can affect one’s esophagus, you know.)

  I’m not going to give you the exact scientific

  definition of horking right now. It’s a medical thing.

  Instead, here’s an X-ray showing how it works:

  Who in history has ever been called a delicate

  and well-mannered creature of grace? I was swept

  away for a moment, and realized that if people

  thought of me as a

  delicate and well-mannered

  creature of grace I would just die. In a good way.

  And I realized I want that more than anything now,

  more even than those other things I want more

  than anything. (To be called that, I mean. Not to die.)

  I stared at Sebastian for a moment, trying to

  make him drown in my eyes.

  “That actress kind of reminds me of you . . .”

  he said, making my graceful spirit spread its wings

  and soar.

  “. . . Angeline,” he finished, making my

  graceful spirit slam into the side of a fertilizer

  factory.

  Yeah. That’s right. He was talking to

  ANGELINE.

  Why? Just because she was all mannerly and

  charming about asking him to join us?

  Well, I could have asked him to join us.

  Or just because she always puts her napkin in

  her lap before she eats lunch?

  Well, I could have put a napkin in my lap.

  Just because she’s graceful and poised and

  delicate and nice?

  Well, I could have put a napkin in my lap.

  You mark my words, Angeline. I WILL

  BE KNOWN, FAR AND WIDE, AS A delicate

  and well-mannered creature of grace, YOU

  BUTTFACED BUTT.

  Oh my gosh. I think I feel a poem coming on

  for Mrs. Avon’s class:

  You’re pretty as a picture,

  So lovely to us all.

  And like a pretty picture,

  We should hang you in the hall.

  Friday 06

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  Today in class, Hudson and I worked on our

  social-studies report. Even though he is the eighth-

  cutest boy in my grade, Hudson also suffers from

  the condition of being male, and so he wanted to do

  a report where we compare how other cultures go to

  the toilet. If I couldn’t get behind that, he was also

  willing to do the report on how people from other

  countries punch one another in the face.

  He gave me the example that, even though we might

  punch people in a fisty way, people from other lands

  might use karate chops. Or friendly people might

  use finger flicks or slaps.

  I told him that slaps are not in any way friendly,

  and offered to get Isabella to demonstrate one of

  her special slaps to him. After receiving one

  of these slaps, the recipient can taste nothing

  but Isabella’s palm for about four days.

  Hudson finally agreed with my idea that we

  could focus on manners for our project, which I

  think is exactly what one might decide when

  partnered with a delicate and well-mannered

  creature of grace.

  I also knew that manners would be a great

  report subject because I have to believe that most

  of the world is doing manners all wrong. We can

  spend a lot of time on that, including some really

  excellent charts to illustrate their ignorance.

  Also, I believe my research is going to lead

  to some important rule about manners that proves

  that asking somebody to join you for lunch and

  being all diligent about putting a napkin in your

  lap means you’re a pig, NOT a

  delicate and well-

  mannered creature of grace.

  Isabella said that she and Yolanda the

  Dainty are doing their report on marriage practices

  around the world, which is obviously a topic selected

  by Yolanda. Isabella will never get married, because

  it would imply that she would be required to share

  her cake with another person right afterward.

  At least Isabella was prepared for class today

  with a sharpened pencil, which represents a pretty

  big accomplishment for her. The last time Isabella

  was prepared like that was back in second grade,

  when our class was visited by a guy that made

  balloon animals — an angry, yelly guy who ironically

  was called Pops.

  I think Yolanda is going to be pleasantly

  surprised by the amount of work Isabella will

  nearly do on this report.

  Angeline and Pinsetti are doing their report

  on how other cultures view us, which I suspect

  Angeline likes because it will give her additional

  chances to look in a mirror, and Pinsetti likes

  because it will give him additional chances to look

  at himself in a mirror making gross faces.

  Saturday 07

  Dear Dumb Diary,

  Aunt Carol is a lot of fun in so many ways.

  None of those are coming to mind right now.

  She called up to tell me she was coming

  over today first thing, to make me take flowers to

  Bruntford because the two of them are kind of

  friends, and I am kind of responsible for Bruntford’s

  ankle, which is kind of injured because she is kind of

  gigantic.

  When Aunt Carol showed up, she’d brought

  Angeline with her, which suddenly made it clear that

  this whole let’s-take-flowers-to-the-

  mean-old-mastodon thing was really

  Angeline’s idea.

  My Aunt Carol is nice and every thing, but my

  mom is her sister and Mom’s told me plenty of

  stories about Aunt Carol.

  One time, when my mom and dad were just

  dating, he came over to pick her up. While he was

  waiting for my mom to get ready, Aunt Carol quietly

  told my dad that my mom had this terrible digestive

  disorder, but he shouldn’t say anything because it

  would really, really embarrass her.

  And earlier, she had told my mom that a

  friend of hers knew my dad, and that my dad had

  the same awful digestive disorder, but not to

  mention it to him because he’d be so embarrassed.

  Before they left for the evening, Aunt Carol

  slipped a four-day-old egg-salad sandwich into the

  bottom of my mom’s purse. They spent the entire

  evening thinking the other one was making that smell.

  See? Aunt Carol is nice, but not as

  annoyingly nice as Angeline.

  Back to me. Before Aunt Carol and Angeline

  arrived, I had looked up different flowers online

  to see if I could find some way that they relate to

  manners. I figured that if Aunt Carol
was making me

  do this nice stupid thing, maybe I could pick

  up some little fact to use for my social-studies

  report.

  Roses and daisies were out, because those

  are typically reserved for love. Some flowers, like

  lilies, are often used at funerals, so Bruntford

  would probably only appreciate those if she was dead.

  For inspiration, I tried to think of the flower

  she most reminded me of, but it’s the one that’s

  spelled differently and is sold in five-pound bags.

  Fortunately, Aunt Carol had picked up a little

  assorted bouquet that didn’t mean anything, so

  that was a relief.

  I talked Isabella into going along with us,

  because it meant we could actually look inside

  Bruntford’s house and see if she really had a tire

  swing and lived only on bananas, like that rumor we

  started that one time.

  Dumb Diary, we were not prepared for

  what we saw.

  Bruntford’s house is beautiful, and big. It is

  magnificent. It’s wonderfully decorated — and

  as difficult as that is to understand, Isabella had

  some thoughts on the matter instantly.

  “Are you watching this house for somebody

  on vacation?” she asked Bruntford as I handed over

  the meaningless bouquet and the get-well card I’d

  made her.

  Bruntford laughed a little, which made some

  of the petals fall off one of the flowers.

  “My husband and I bought this house long

  ago and raised our son here. But Mr. Bruntford is no

  longer with us, I’m afraid.”

  “Left you, huh?” Isabella asked helpfully.

  “Younger woman?” She was charitably trying to

  spare Bruntford the embarrassment of just coming

  out and admitting it herself.

  “He passed away,” Angeline said in an angry

  whisper.

  Aunt Carol gave Isabella a little jab with her

  elbow to correct her manners. You know, because

  nothing teaches politeness like an elbow jab.

 

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