16: You write something.

Gasp! And here I thought I was The Writer. Yet there you are, hunched over a pad of paper, writing out some kind of list. I try to peer over your shoulder, but you are ready for this, and pull closer to the page, shielding the contents from my eyes. Rude!

I take it you are miffed due to my recent absence. I try to reassure you by patting you on the shoulder. You are even more miffed to find that the slimy sensation of my shoulder-patting is due to the fish in my hand.

“Why are you holding a fish?!” you snap.

“Why would I not be?” I respond, puzzled. I play catch with my fish while I wait for you to finish writing.

You take your time, which leaves me impatient. What, oh what could it be? I contemplate the contents of your list. Is it a list of swear words? Those are fun. Don’t forget dumbballs and lardpants. Get creative.

Is it a list of organs in the human body? I know all of those. Don’t forget Red Blob and Slimy Tubes. Those are big ones.

Is it a list of fruit you might enjoy? You really do need to cast your net a little wider here, your pickiness has concerned me more than once. Watermelon is not the be-all end-all of fruit, I promise.

Is it a list of the fish in the sea? Don’t forget this one!

*schwap*

That was me slapping you with my fish. Ho, ho ho, look at your expression! Oh. You’re not pleased. You slam a door in my face that has conveniently appeared betwixt you and me. I suppose I’ll just sneak back in tomorrow to read your list and your latest diary entry. I never did get a chance to see what you thought of lemons.