Diary of a Stalker: Entry 1

Monday, April 8, 2013


Today I met the One. Or rather, I saw her and then later imagined meeting her.

I had just walked out the door of my tediously boring Biology 1 class and was headed straight for the lunch line when I crashed into somebody. Now naturally, when you’re only 5’2’’ and the rest of your school is somehow so pumped with testosterone that they’re all 6 foot even, you tend to only be able to see other people’s stomach, waist, or what lies just below… And who wants to see that? So, as the only alternative available other than looking up and exhausting my neck muscles, I choose look down at the legs and feet of my peers.

As a fact, you can tell a lot from what people wear on their lower appendages. For example, a skirt following dress code implies that the girl is a little uncomfortable with the idea femininity and has been forced into the ideal because of certain circumstances. A skirt just barely passing the mark implies that the wearer is very comfortable with femininity but still maintains the belief that the dress code will always be enforced. As a side note, this is absolutely not true. Finally, a skirt that most definitely does not comply with dress code, and very possibly not with the purpose of covering the lady parts either, implies that the girl is, well, promiscuous, to put it lightly. This was the type of skirt Amy Pemperwinkle was wearing on the day that I “met” her.

Once again, I was looking down, which is a surefire way to not see where you’re going and maybe, possibly, definitely run into somebody. It just so happened that that somebody would be Miss Pemperwinkle. If I recall correctly, she was sporting a high-waisted skirt with a very high hem and printed with pink and coral floral patterns. Her choice of shoes was a pair of simple tan ballet flats—quite fitting, if I may say so myself. As was her whole outfit, so obviously, my eyes were naturally drawn from the forest of denim-clad legs to her stunning clothes. And with my eyes followed my body. And that is how, I assume, my face came to be in contact with her stomach.

Admittedly, the moment I saw Amy, I didn’t exactly like what I see. The layers of blush and eye shadow naturally repelled me. But later, as I thought about how her face looked under all that makeup, I came to realize that without it, she would be quite beautiful. And so I’ve submitted myself to finding or taking a picture of her without her makeup, and when I do, I will be able to approach that repulsive mask of artificial ingredients and drown it out with the image of her magnificently clean face and finally meet Amy Pemperwinkle.