A Fairy Out of Her Tale - Dear Diary - 37. Scene 37

15th January 1995

Dear Diary of Unhealthy Fixations,

I didn’t need to be afraid of nightmares, because I didn’t have any. All I dreamed of was Lydia. Her body, her lips, her warmth. She’s really warm, actually. I woke up sweating just from lying next to her. Must be because of all that body hair.

And after almost waking up from the sound of pen and paper, she slept like a rock. I woke up first, stared at her for an eternity (because she’s cute and gorgeous like that), and she finally woke up. Her sleepy eyes blinked twice, and I could see the moment she remembered she hadn’t slept in her room.

‘Morning, my precious.’ She grinned. ‘Your bed is really big.’

‘Does that mean you want to sleep here more often?’

‘I could sleep here every night.’ She licked her lips. Somehow even her beard ooozed sexiness.

That was another one of those moments where I wanted to come up with the most irresistible pick-up line. Something about us together in bed. About how next time our bodies should be naked and touching and how I didn’t even mind all her hair. But obviously, by now you know how great my flirting abilities are, so you can imagine what I said instead:

‘I could kiss your beard.’

At least Lydia laughed. Hopefully she thought I was joking. Please, Mother Deity, never let her know that’s the true extent of my flirting abilities.

‘We would be here the whole day if I were to list every part of you I want to kiss. Not that that’s a bad thing.’

There. That’s how you flirt. Take note, Nessa, and say something actually worth saying next time!

By now you probably know without me having to bother spelling it out that Lydia’s invitation was all I needed to get some intense kissing session started.

Breakfast? What is breakfast when your mouth is busy with something so much more entertaining than eating? I’m sure I could’ve gone without lunch and dinner too. It seemed easy enough to just lay there with Lydia for the rest of my life. You know how that’s like, right?

Or maybe you don’t because you’re a diary and you’re made of paper and I don’t think you can have a girlfriend as such. Or can you?

See, I would know more about what it is like to be an inanimate object that just sits there while I write and only occasionally sort of answers my questions if you actually talked to me every now and then. Would it hurt you to get some dialogue going? Just because you’re into passive listening it doesn’t mean you can’t take an active role once in a while.

(I hope Lydia never reads this and realises her lover thinks diaries can talk back. Just because I have faith in you, it doesn’t mean I expect everyone else to do so too.)

Either way, you have no idea how much I want to write that kissing Lydia was all I did for the whole day and the whole week and the whole of my existence. That would’ve been the perfect story, wouldn’t it? The kind of thing that would make people melt their hearts from my budding romance.

I got diahorrea instead.

Sorry to be blunt. But how else can I make you understand why I had to suddenly dash off to my bathroom and why Lydia wasn’t on my bed anymore by the time I got back? I’m sure she was scared off by the horrible dooming sounds I made. And the apocalyptical smell.

I have rotten luck. No pun intended. Though by this point I might as well find a reason to laugh at all this ridiculousness.

I’m going to find Lydia now and see if I can salvage at least some of my reputation.

We’ll continue this later.