I’ve taken to writing dear diary tweets. I don’t particularly know why, but I have, and so I’ll share some of them with you.
Dear Diary: Am I really supposed to marry this moron? I mean, lots of women fit that shoe. A few men, too. Is that really how a smart man finds his wife? Doesn’t bother to actually talk to her and make sure she’s the one?
Dear Diary: Sure, the prince kisses me and wakes me up. That’s lovely. I’m happy to be alive. But! I was in a coffin. He thought I was dead. What sort of man does that make him? Should I just go back to the dwarfs?
Dear Diary: Who knew I was so allergic to rabbits and March hares? And no place to get allergy medicine. Why are there no drugstores in Wonderland? Or Kleenex?
Dear Diary: Just once I”d like to go a week or two without tripping over a dead body. People are starting to wonder if I’m a Typhoid Mary. Even Seth is giving me the side-eye. Why do corpses have to fall in my path so often?
Dear Diary: Somebody has got to get Aragorn some decent shampoo. I mean, we’ve been on this trips weeks and my hair is still silky and beautiful. His is stringy and greasy. Worse, he seems to LIKE it that way. Even the DWARF has better hair habits.
Dear Diary: One cannot have too much jewelry no matter what the orcs say. The elves could have added a little bling, though. Bland bastards. Everything has to be “simple” and natural. Ugly I call it.