boyfriend troubles

I know, I know, it's bad of me not to post in a while when I just started this blog, but I have a good excuse. I snagged my first boyfriend, Jiff, within the first week of school, having been told it was the thing to do. In order to be adequately in love with Jiff, I've been adopting all his interests and abandonning all his disinterests. I hung up some pictures of female tennis players in my locker, joined the pessimists club, and stopped writing altogether since Jiff told me he didn’t know how. Certain readers of my blog have confessed their jealousy over my neglect, and admitted to secretly feeding me soap in my sleep so bubbles keep coming out of my nose while I snore and my farts have been smelling really good. This wasn’t enough to cheer me up, however. My dad caught me yesterday hanging my head over the side of my bed, reading my latest issue of Briq. I had been crying over a touching story in their “Touch & Feel” column and Dad wanted to know what was so sad.
“This girl’s house burned down and all she had left after the fire was a purple comforter, which mysteriously faded into a drab periwinkle, just like mine! I can identify!” I cried.
“Your comforter didn’t fade mysteriously,” Dad said. “You washed it in hot water.”
I blew my nose in response.
“Nice grade,” said Dad. He was referring to the piece of paper I was using to blow my nose in the absence of unused tissues.
“It’s an initial. This happens to be a note from my boyfriend to a girl named Dee.”
My dad took the snotty note out of my hand and read it. “He wants to marry her and go to Paris?”
“He told me he couldn’t even write,” I grumbled, flopping back on my now-periwinkle pillow and scrunching up my legs. “He even praised her nostrils the same way he praises mine.”
“He obviously hasn’t seen as much of your booger production as I have,” Dad said, flapping the note back and forth in his hand to dry the snot. He was wrinkling his eyebrows and smirking, as he does. “How did you get this, Jolly?” He dropped the note on my bed, snot side down, and folded his arms. “You were snooping in other people’s lockers, weren’t you?”
“It’s the only fun thing I get to do!” I barked. “It’s the only way I can find out how smelly other people are.”
“Even with your praiseworthy nostrils?” Dad smiled. “I think you’re too jealous, Jolly. You stink just fine.” He sat next to me on my bed, grabbed the note, and tapped me on the head with it, again snot side down. “I think you should split your head open and die. Maybe this paper will do the trick. Or maybe--”
“Maybe if I hit you with this featherless pillow a feather will fly out,” I said, whapping him so hard with my pillow Dad’s sensitive eye fell out of its socket, transformed into a tiny feather, and floated out of the room. Dad left to chase after it and didn’t bug me the rest of the evening. If only all my problems could be solved by pillow fights.