Diary
Page Twenty
I belted out 15 chapters of some stupid story I’m writing. It’s sort of an autobiography, if you must know. Changed names, ages, some traumatic events, ect.
Your mom called to, just to ask exactly was I was doing, what Roxy was doing, how Way Offspring numero dous was doing.
I answered: Writing. Watching TV. Getting cuter.
Again, your mother scolded me for being sarcastic. I can’t help it, it’s like a second language or something.
When she speaks to me, my ears turn to mush. It’s like I’m in a Peanuts special; wah wah wah.
I don’t want to listen. Most times I wish she’d leave me alone.
Any who, I stopped near the wedding in my story. I don’t really know how long it’ll be, actually. I’m basically writing up until the main characters end, like mine.
The wedding, is loosely based on ours. And I use that term loosely. There’s no black roses, instead white ones. There is no red velvet cake, only vanilla. There is more than enough alcohol to drown Betty Ford, and less family members. There is no fighting between the Italians from the groom’s side, and the bride got to invite as many as her friends as she wanted. The bride planned the wedding with friends, and without her future mother-in-law.
She gets to wear the dress she picked. Her father is dressed in his favorite suit, despite it throwing the color scheme off. Eccentric; everything the bride wants. The groom’s men don’t make any derogatory gestures to the bride’s maids. The bride’s former “lover” isn’t pissy drunk and threatening to smash the cake.
The groom’s hair is messy, just like the bride likes it, and he looks disheveled; the bride loves it. His tie is a little loose, one button undone on his button up, and his crooked smile cannot be tamed. He isn’t hiding a flask in his dress suit’s breast pocket. He isn’t tipsy.
He remembers all the vows. He smiles at his newlywed wife. His eyes don’t glaze over in a dead haze. The bride isn’t regretting this. He can kiss her without needing to support himself on his shoulders. Everyone claps, no one shouts. It’s a dream come true.
The reception is nothing short of perfect. Her groom isn’t too drunk to have the first dance with her. Her father isn’t mashing his hands into the potato salad that the groom’s mother spent 4 days preparing. Her former lover isn’t talking loud and drinking all the wine. The bride doesn’t rush off to the nearest rest room and ball until one of her girl friends comes to see what she’s doing.
The bride is happy.
She doesn’t drink until she’s wrenching her guts out at the honeymoon. She isn’t having gross, sweaty, drunk sex with her husband, and she is most definitely not regretting her marriage.
She’s happy.
Her name is Victoria.
She’s 20, not 19.
Her mother is dead; but not by her own hand.
She’s not an aspiring writer, but an artist. Just like her husband.
She’s looking forward to spending the rest of her days following behind her husband.
One thing that I and Victoria share is our undying love for our husbands. We love them. They mean the world to us.
But another thing; Victoria, for now, still loves her husband. She’s barely lives in chapter 15.
I’m living in chapter 20.
Your mom called to, just to ask exactly was I was doing, what Roxy was doing, how Way Offspring numero dous was doing.
I answered: Writing. Watching TV. Getting cuter.
Again, your mother scolded me for being sarcastic. I can’t help it, it’s like a second language or something.
When she speaks to me, my ears turn to mush. It’s like I’m in a Peanuts special; wah wah wah.
I don’t want to listen. Most times I wish she’d leave me alone.
Any who, I stopped near the wedding in my story. I don’t really know how long it’ll be, actually. I’m basically writing up until the main characters end, like mine.
The wedding, is loosely based on ours. And I use that term loosely. There’s no black roses, instead white ones. There is no red velvet cake, only vanilla. There is more than enough alcohol to drown Betty Ford, and less family members. There is no fighting between the Italians from the groom’s side, and the bride got to invite as many as her friends as she wanted. The bride planned the wedding with friends, and without her future mother-in-law.
She gets to wear the dress she picked. Her father is dressed in his favorite suit, despite it throwing the color scheme off. Eccentric; everything the bride wants. The groom’s men don’t make any derogatory gestures to the bride’s maids. The bride’s former “lover” isn’t pissy drunk and threatening to smash the cake.
The groom’s hair is messy, just like the bride likes it, and he looks disheveled; the bride loves it. His tie is a little loose, one button undone on his button up, and his crooked smile cannot be tamed. He isn’t hiding a flask in his dress suit’s breast pocket. He isn’t tipsy.
He remembers all the vows. He smiles at his newlywed wife. His eyes don’t glaze over in a dead haze. The bride isn’t regretting this. He can kiss her without needing to support himself on his shoulders. Everyone claps, no one shouts. It’s a dream come true.
The reception is nothing short of perfect. Her groom isn’t too drunk to have the first dance with her. Her father isn’t mashing his hands into the potato salad that the groom’s mother spent 4 days preparing. Her former lover isn’t talking loud and drinking all the wine. The bride doesn’t rush off to the nearest rest room and ball until one of her girl friends comes to see what she’s doing.
The bride is happy.
She doesn’t drink until she’s wrenching her guts out at the honeymoon. She isn’t having gross, sweaty, drunk sex with her husband, and she is most definitely not regretting her marriage.
She’s happy.
Her name is Victoria.
She’s 20, not 19.
Her mother is dead; but not by her own hand.
She’s not an aspiring writer, but an artist. Just like her husband.
She’s looking forward to spending the rest of her days following behind her husband.
One thing that I and Victoria share is our undying love for our husbands. We love them. They mean the world to us.
But another thing; Victoria, for now, still loves her husband. She’s barely lives in chapter 15.
I’m living in chapter 20.
♠ ♠ ♠
Irony with the number 20 right? I didn't even see it until now