realreally

Dear Diary,

When will my prince come? I’m so sick of these seven hairy little men. Always drinking and swearing and the smell?! Oh good Lord. I wish they would mix in a bar of soap on occasion. They take baths without water and yet they smell like tiny wet dogs. And the gas, when it’s chili night I can hardly sleep from Grumpy’s fumes and even Dopey rattles the china cabinet on those nights. Last night I found a booger on my pillow. And then, during story time, I thought Doc was just snuggling next to me, but he was picking and flicking and he’s probably the most well-mannered of them all. It’s disgusting. And Bashful? Not so much. Last weekend when they all came home from the pub, I heard them settle in for bed and then I heard a creak on the stairs. The next thing I know I feel someone licking my feet and I assumed it was one of the forest creatures. I threw back the covers to find pervy little Bashful leering up at me from the foot of my bed. Well I threw an apple at him and hit him right in the eye. The little jerk just picked it up, took a bite and immediately dropped dead. Serves the little bastard right. I guess Sleepy’s gonna have to start pulling his weight now that there’s only six left. Well, it’s late and I’m tired so I’m going to blow out the candle. But please hurry with P. Charming cause I think Happy was looking at me funny tonight. And, frankly, he has always kinda creeped me out. Love, Snow.