The Dream

Dear Malcolm's diary,

Still unknown to woman, though lady Lennox has been awfully friendly lately. I am, however, dubious as to whether or not I could feel any true pangs of passion for someone who seems slightly...well, "touched." She sat looking at me for a considerable length of time at dinner whilst trying to remove some invisible food-stuff from her lips with her tongue. Surely the effort required to remove a bit of honey from the jowls requires very little thought; however, she seemed deep in concentration and the effort was laborious and deliberate. Besides, I have another who occupies my fancy. I have alluded to my dream...I am almost afraid to divulge the full contents of my sleepy imaginings for fear someone should pick the lock of your most precious pages.

I shall be bold and risk the discovery. As of late, though from whence it came I know not, desirous dreams of the fair Lady MacD have infiltrated my dreams. In them we...oh, diary! the sheer rapture of this account fills me with feelings that -while exhilarating- make me feel slightly ashamed. In this most blessed repose, I and lady MacD (in matching flannel onezies) tramp about the room playfully hitting each other...with pillows! Oh, to capture the deepest, darkest recesses of my heart on your ample pages fills me with glee! I am sure that she is to be mine! Her husband is, of course, a most pressing obstacle. Though he is far bigger, burlier, and hairier than my own, youthful self; his love of animal husbandry metaphors surely puts him at a disadvantage. I must find a way to separate them.

I hear someone coming. Diary, I must conclude quickly before I am discovered. Fare thee well!

Love,
Malcolm.

It Smells Like New Rain

Dear Malcolm's Diary,

Father bought you for me today. He says you are for recording military strategies and notes on political policy. I, however, see you as someone to whom I can unfold the secrets of my tender heart.

I don't believe DonalBORING got a diary as well. I haven't seen hide nor hair of him in a good while. Last I heard he left with two chappy-looking ladies and a tall slim man. Father says NEVER kiss a chappy woman. That leads to dry-mouth. Seeing as how I regularly apply moistening chap stick to my lips, I am certainly not willing to take such a risk.

One never knows when the right moment might present itself. The right moment with the right lady who wouldn't mind being kissed by Prince Malcolm.

Well...not Prince YET I suppose. Father promises soon. Not soon enough, for I am sure that it's the "Prince" part that the ladies like best.

I dreamed about Lady McD again last night. I wonder if she is at all interested in my collection of etchings?

Yours,

Malcolm