November 4^th 1997      

Dearest diary of mine,

 I’m having second thoughts about this Red cloak. So far it seems to have bought me nothing but distress.

The collage girls at the bus stop scream awful things at me.

“Scarlet fever beaver’ and ‘red ride’. I’m not positive, but I have a feeling they’re insinuating that my privates are infected with lust crust planted by the local boys who supposedly ride me like a bike…a red bike.

I only bought this freakin thing because it was on sale. And for its glorious warmth, being way down in the fall and all. Well, that and my uncle commented that ‘it bought out the color in my neck’, which I’m starting to think was NOT a compliment. That’s the last time we go shopping together. It’s not normal.

I’m heading off to Nan’s tomorrow afternoon and I’m thinking maybe she could use a new cloak, not that she’d even wear it. She seems forever in mid backstroke under that sea of quilts.

Oh and before it slips, I must note this: that hairy devil from the

Wood End Estate has been watching me like a dog does a cutlet, all bearded and dribbly. He’s laying fiendish plans against me…I just know it.       

Until my next entry,

                                   Jill Gentree.