Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

Andy woke me up this morning by stuffing a pillow over my face and then farting into it.  Then the little worm fell and hit his head on my dresser because his laughter threw him off balance.  Then he cried and Mom was yelling at me from the kitchen before I could even begin to gather myself.

Far more disturbing than the smell that followed (I've slowly built an immunity to my brother's farts) was the sound traveling through my pillow, bouncing around and eventually propelling itself into my dream- all in the span of microseconds.

That's right, the fart had broken through to the other side. I was having a perfectly good conversation with JLo about starting your own herb garden when we were suddenly interrupted by a low rumble. The ground jolted beneath us like someone had yanked an Earth-sized tablecloth from under our feet. JLo gave me an accusatory look and then laughed. Except it was my brother's laugh.

The sky opened up and I felt my face flush with red. JLo was off and running, hurdling over a fire hydrant like a track star, her beautiful legs now longer than stilts. Then one last glance over her was a total look of disgust.

I tried screaming the words, IT WASN'T ME! but no sound escaped my lips. I was mouthing the words like a small mouth bass.

If I dream of JLo again I don't know if I can face her. What if she remembers?