Reblog from The Armchair Librarian:
Today I decided to start my journey to become that paragon of all women, the epitome of all feminist ideals--
That's right, diary. Today, I become Anastasia Steele.
A creepy man came into my workplace today. He was buying rope, gags, a Barney singalong, a bone-saw, and the complete works of the Marquis de Sade. I didn't even know we sold books here! He looked very surprised when I gave him my number. We're going out to dinner tomorrow.
On the car ride over (he drives a Yugo! a YUGO! he must be an undercover billionaire), he played a mixtape of Kenny Loggins and Tom Jones. He has the best taste in music. Nothing is as inspirational as elevator music.
You can, of course, imagine my surprise when he stops at an abandoned shed in the middle of nowhere. I suppose this must be his summer home. After all, I am so special and amazing, only a billionaire would fall for someone as insipid and completely plain as me. They would find my bland normality refreshing and down-to-earth.
Creepy man and I had sex after two dates. He seemed frightened when I dragged him into the staff elevator where I work and screamed out, "Paint me like one of your French girls!" Oh, wait. That was Titanic, wasn't it? I get my horrendously over-hyped romances mixed up when I get excited. She didn't end up with the billionaire in that one, though. She ended up Forever Alone. So I shouted, "One BILLION dollars!" and put my pinky to my mouth. Oh wait--that wasn't...
Oh well. At least he had money.
The creepy man has stopped returning my calls. He must be getting ready to propose.
Drove up to the creepy man's summer shed today. All the lights were dark. I could hear strains of Barney's "I love you," coming from inside. My inner goddess starts square-dancing in a feather boa and galoshes.
I open the door. He jumps out wearing a woman's nightdress. In his hand is a mummified skull. "This is my mother," he says. "I am her special, special boy. She made me what I am! She wanted to protect me! All women are whores! Isn't that right, mummy? I mean mommy?"
"Hey!" I said. "I'm not a whore. I only slept with you because I thought you were rich."
The creepy man blinks. The skull stares.
"You're not a billionaire, are you?"
Barney's singing fills the silence.
My inner-goddess stops dancing. She lets out a fart. "Right, then. Thanks for, well, nothing really." I let the door slam closed behind me.
Creepy man comes running out with the saw he bought when we first met. He runs towards the car. I grab my whip from the passenger seat and snap it out at him Indiana Jones style. My inner-goddess makes guns with her fingers and says, "Pow! Pow! I got you!"
Day # 10
One day, I will find the psychotic man of my dreams. One who is good in bed, has billions of dollars, AND buys me whatever I want.
Instead of the kind who, you know, is just a psycho.
A girl's gotta have some standards, you know.