I see you.
Sometimes, it seems that I see you 37 times a day. You and your groovy friends.
I see your friends “convincing” you to be the one to go down the drain or through the upper window because you’re the skinniest. I see the way you never protest that Daphne is so slim she might be anorexic. Clearly she is the one who should have to slither.
I see your quick thinking and wardrobe changes to save yourself from the machinations of those small-town bad guys.
I see your ability to communicate with your dog. It’s nothing short of astounding. Cleverness and training like that should be rewarded and acknowledged. But it seems that no one even notices.
I see the way that insufferable ass with the red scarf leads you and your friends into trouble. We better “investigate” he says. And ignores your reasonable protests about visiting skull island or the haunted mansion or the dark tunnel. Why is that your little group of friends comes across all these haunted places anyway? Are you guys magnets for small town people enacting crimes? Just why is it that all the local cops are so shoddy at their jobs anyhow?
I see the way your so-called friends ignore that you just want to have some dinner with your dog. But instead they seem unable to come up with more than a dog snack when they’re trying to convince you to get into the boat to lure in the ghost ship. And you’re too kind to throw it in their faces to demand a sandwich before the ghosts drag your soul down to hell.
I see the way you get lumped in with your friends when there is outcry at the end of your adventures for you meddling ways. But it wasn’t you. It was never you who wanted to deliver the haunted knight’s armor. Surely that’s the museum’s problem. It was never you who cared why the fun park was running in the middle of the night. Or why that truck was abandoned on the road. It was always you who was willing to go the long way around to avoid the scary short cut or move onto the next hotel after the eyes in the paintings started following you around.
I see you finally getting your snacks at the end. Having to fight off your dog for your bologna, hot sauce, scooby snack, ice cream and anchovy sandwich stack. All the while knowing it’s just a matter of time before your chums lead you into yet another haunted pier/ castle/ fun park/ forest. Shove that whole thing in your mouth, yo, and consider another.
It just might be your last.
~Amanda
ps Finished Anne of Green Gables. It made me cry like 7 times. Now onto Anne of Avonlea. I’ll make that fit into my own personal Popsugar Book Challenge–probably. Regardless, I think I’ll be reading the first few of those. Anne of Green Gables also qualifies as my August Classic.
Amanda A. Allen 