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

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Dear Dumb Diary #3: Am I the Princess or the Frog? Page 5

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

 

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