Dear Diary,I write this, my dearest of dear friends, from the comfort of my home. Sipping tea in my favorite chair. Eating chocolate-dipped cookies. Surrounded by the hundreds of red pens that were showered upon me at my return. Life has never been so sweet.
I emerged last evening to discover not the fancy party I had imagined, but an indoor luau in full swing. The glasses clinking were filled with brightly colored liquids and umbrellas. The snapping flames from the tiki torches and fire in the barbeque pit. The delicious smells that of smoke-roasted meats and fruity salads.
And instead of being chased out, I was welcomed with applause and cheers, despite my appearance and atrocious odor! (Thankfully the odor was quickly remedied by a quick dip in a nearby wading pool.) Then they showered me with red pens like confetti, which hurt a bit but was well worth the pain.
As I was ushered deeper into the room, my host (she which imprisoned me) approached in pajamas and wide-brimmed hat and said: "Ah, there you are. Good, good. I sent a car for you..." She eyed the state of me. "But apparently you found your own way here. Anyway, it's good you're back - we have so much work to do!" Then she raised her sky blue drink and yelled, "But for now, let's par-tay!"
And so I enjoyed myself immensely, eating and drinking and talking and collecting every red pen off the floor into a nice weaved handbag I picked up...somewhere. Then, once we were sufficiently sloshed, my host (or, her driver) brought me (us) home, where I now lounge, happy and content.
So my dear friend, this is my last entry. After I sign off I shall tie you up and hide you away somewhere never to be seen a-more, lest you bring back horrible memories that I do not wish to contemplate ever again.
Although I could've sworn I overheard my host discussing "next year's hostage plans" with a ninja at the party last evening. I pray it was only the fruity drinks talking...
Yours no more (I hope),
Inner Editor
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