Dear Diary

Dear Diary: There is a new man across the street. I watched him move in from behind my curtains, I could see that he was a good-looking man, and I saw no signs of a wife. My late husband would have called me nosy, but I like to think of myself as having a healthy curiosity. I think that I will bake a cake for him tonight. It should make him feel welcome and I could inform him about the area. New people appreciate that.

Dear Diary: This morning I brought over the cake, and he was impressed by my baking skills. He even told me that he didn’t know many women who would go to the trouble of baking instead of buying one. I offered to put on a pot of coffee to go with the cake, but he asked if we could do it another time as he had appointments. I did learn that the poor man is a widower. Maybe I’ll invite him over for dinner next week.

Dear Diary: I forgot to tell you. His name is Fred. He was an airline pilot and is only semi-retired. What an exciting life he must have had! I can’t wait to learn more about it at dinner next week. I’m already planning the menu. We do speak every day out by the mailboxes. I even make sure that I bring my umbrella in case it rains. We would hate to have our conversations cut short.

Dear Diary: Fred has such odd hours! I suppose that being partly retired means that you can’t pick and choose your own routes to fly. He is coming to dinner in just two days, and I can’t wait to hear his stories about the exotic locations he has been to.

Dear Diary: Fred had to cancel our date. He was so sweet with his apology. He is being called away on a big trip. Now, what will I do with all this food? I’ve been cooking for days and must have spent a small fortune on the ingredients. I thought about donating it to a homeless shelter but then I thought that they just wouldn’t appreciate the quality of the cuisine. Instead, I threw most of it in the trash. Well, some of it. A girls got to eat, doesn’t she?  

Dear Diary: Fred is back. I can see that his lights are on, but he didn’t answer the door when I went over. Poor dear must be exhausted. Maybe I’ll just set some cookies on his doorstep for him to find when he wakes up.

Dear Diary: I can’t believe it! This morning I saw a woman come out of Fred’s house! She stepped right out onto my cookies. Fred was behind her, and he bent down and picked up the crushed mess. He was grinning from ear to ear as he walked out with her and threw them in the trash. How dare she??? Can’t he see that this woman is what belongs in the trash? I’m very disappointed in Fred. He really should have more sense that to entertain such a floozy.

Dear Diary: I know that I haven’t written in a while, but I’ve just been too upset to do it. Fred and Julie (yes, that is that woman’s name) have gotten married. Married! They barely know each other. Fred was mine until that bitch moved in. We adored each other. Why would he have chosen her over me? I mean, Julie can’t even bake, let alone cook. I see them ordering takeout every night. If Julie hadn’t thrown herself at Fred, I could have been making him wonderful, healthy meals every night. The house would always be stocked with homemade baked goods. He told me that he loved my cake and now he is eating that store bought crap. Oh Diary, I just am beside myself and don’t know what to do. That woman must go. Fred is mine.

Dear Diary: I know. A few months have gone by. I’ve been trying to occupy myself by taking courses. My favorite class is in auto repair. A single woman needs to know how to fix her own car if something goes wrong on a lonely road. I’m not afraid to get a little dirty under the hood, unlike that bitch Julie over there. With her fancy clothes, long manicured nails and perfect hair. Even her car is fancy, one of those sporty BMW convertibles that are useless in the Winters here. Maybe Fred married her for the money because she must have a lot of it.  Fred just drives a sensible Camry.

Dear Diary: A terrible thing has happened! So awful that I don’t quite know how to write about it. Julie went out to her regular Thursday night visit to her Aunt, who lives a bit out in the countryside. I saw her start to get in her car but then Fred called her back in and told her to take his car because it was safer. But, Diary, it wasn’t safer! The car brakes failed, and Julie died instantly when she hit the tree on the curve. As you know, I didn’t like Julie much but never expected her to die in that way. She shouldn’t have been in Fred’s car. And now, Fred will be driving Julie’s car. I have offered him the use of mine for a while so that he won’t be reminded of her every time he drives it. That should give me time to repair the steering mechanism in the BMW. Those things can be so touchy. But I do wonder. Who cut the brake lines in the Camry?