This week was fun, but something scary happened to me again. I was playing in my backyard with my dog. Her name is Sparkles, and she’s my friend.
Why does everyone keep touching me in my private places? My Mommy and Daddy said to me “No. Don’t let boys touch you in your private places.” But what about girls? Sometimes I get so confused with all of these grown-up rules.
Just as I was pitching the little tennis ball that Sparkles and I use to play catch, I heard some rustling sounds over the fence. Rustle, rustle, rustle, the sounds went. I got curious, so I walked over to the bushes lining the gate . . . and BAM! Something hit me right in the face!
I don’t remember what happened next, but everything was all black and fuzzy. When I woke up, I was trapped in a warm, dark room with very soft sheets . . . and I wasn’t wearing any clothes! OH NO! I thought. Not again!
I tried to pull the blanket over myself. But someone walked in and revealed herself to me. That’s right, she revealed herself, right before my innocent, nudie little eyes!
I was shell-shocked. She looked just like a nice, trusting adult I would’ve run to if I’d ever needed a bandaid. Except that her big bobbies were showing, and that wasn’t nice at all.
“What have you done with Sparkles?” I huffed angrily, all weak-but-brave-damsel-in-distress like.
The woman cackled meanly. Mwah-ha-ha-ha-ha, she cackled, only not quite as nice sounding.
“I believe you’ll find yourself to be a little more pliable,” she announced, “once you get a whiff of this.”
I did not want a whiff of anything, really. But she was a bad girl villain, and bad girl villains don’t listen to what you want. Then she came over and stuck a bottle under my nose. I tried to turn away, but my head still kinda hurt. That’s my kryptonite, if you can keep a secret. When someone bashes my head open in my very own backyard.
The stuff in the bottle smelled really bad. My battling arms soon dropped uselessly to my sides. Then the mean lady laid me down on the floor and purred at me. I gulped as she recapped the bottle and set it down.
“How does that feel?” she asked seductively, trailing a long fingernail down my abdomen.
It felt great. All of a sudden my dizziness increased, but at the same time, a happy feeling overcame me. My dampening kitty felt really hollow, like it needed to be stuffed. The mean lady saw me wiggling to be touched and immediately laughed all evil-like again.
She stretched forward then and pulled out a canister from beneath the couch. It was full of little red circles marinading in red liquid. The looked like veiny eyeballs in blood.
“Cordial cherries,” the woman supplied at my horrified expression. “Poppers and cherries,” she laughed.
I didn’t understand the joke until she repeated it three more times, guffawing louder with each word. Finally she was leaning over me in a laughing fit, so I reached up and grabbed her booby to snap her out of it.
“Umm, excuse me,” I interrupted politely, “but aren’t you going to touch my privates?”
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