Read Online Melanie Martin Goes Dutch by Carol Weston - Free Book Online
Authors: Carol Weston
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wigs with a ponytail attached.
If my signature is funny, it's because my eyes will be closed.
Do Re Mi—
(Sand Fort)
Dear Diary,
I got in trouble.
We three kids wanted fast food, but Dad said no, so we went to this tiny fancy place and ordered pork chops and
stamppot
(Stamp Pot is mashed potatoes and mixed-up vegetables). Dad also ordered a beer bysaying, “I'll have a Heinie” (for Heineken). I felt like hiding under the table!
My pork chop was good except it had gristle and fat on it, so after I ate everything I liked, I pushed the disgusting stuff to one side of my plate. But even there, it was still grossing me out, so I spooned up the gristle and fat and dumped it onto Dad's plate.
Okay, fine, I realize I don't have the World's Best Manners. But first of all, they're not as bad as Matt's. And second of all, I
always
separate yummy stuff from yucky stuff and transfer the yucky stuff to Dad's plate, and he never minds. A lot of times he even thanks me! At home, when we order in fried rice, I transfer heaping spoonfuls of egg and onions to Dad's plate, and he gobbles up my rejects, happy as can be. (He is a Big Pig, after all.)
The problem was that this time when I transferred the food, I accidentally splashed sauce onto Dad's new striped shirt.
Next thing you know, his striped shirt was polka-dotted with brownish-orangeish specks. Dad quietly checked the damage and took a deep breath. I expectedhim to start ranting about how after wearing the same dirty shirt for days, he finally gets to put on something clean and new and I go and make a mess of it. Or how my table manners are atrocious and I should be ashamed and wait till Mom hears about this. Or something.
Maybe it was because the restaurant was tiny, but Dad stayed quiet. I looked at Cecily and Matt to see if they were smiling or making faces, but they were both staring straight down.
I almost wanted Dad to just start yelling because, well, imagine knowing a volcano is going to explode but not knowing when.
Finally, it occurred to me to say, “Sorry, Dad.”
Using his inside voice, Dad said, “Thank you for apologizing, Melanie. But I do not want you to use my plate as a garbage can anymore. Is that clear?” He was rubbing bubbly water on his shirt.
I nodded, but Dad repeated, “Is that clear?” so I said, “Yes.” I even said “Sorry” again because I was.
My eyes were burning and I was hoping I wouldn't start crying with Cecily right there. But then I did start and I had to keep dabbing my eyes with mynapkin and hoping no one noticed even though everyone probably did.
Pathetically yours,
Dear Diary,
Anne Frank wrote in her diary, “Am I really so bad-mannered, conceited, headstrong, pushing, stupid, lazy, etc., etc., as they all say? Oh, of course not. I have my faults, just like everyone else, but they thoroughly exaggerate everything.”
I want to keep reading, but our train is slowing down.
Time to get off! Holland is so small that we're already here at the North Sea. Sea in Dutch is
zee
.
Dear Diary,
Oh my God, I mean gosh! Mom may be seeing Rembrandts and Mondrians and de Koonings or whoever, but guess what we're seeing? Half-naked people!!! A lot of ladies on this beach are
not
wearing tops!!! They're wearing bikini bottoms and nothing else!!!
It's pretty embarrassing!!!
I wonder if Mom would even approve of Dad's taking us here—especially without her. Well, too late.
Here we are.
Dad is
not
concentrating on his guidebook. And when we got changed into our new bathing suits, he forgot to say one word about sunscreen. Usually he and Mom are
obsessed
with sunscreen. Usually they put sunscreen on the part on the top of my scalp, forgosh sake!
I have to admit that the beach ladies are pretty distracting! You can see their you-know-whats, which, if you ask me, is
completely
inappropriate. And some of the ladies are, well,
ancient
and saggy-baggy.
Matt keeps whispering to Cecily and laughinguncontrollably. But she isn't
If my signature is funny, it's because my eyes will be closed.
Do Re Mi—
(Sand Fort)
Dear Diary,
I got in trouble.
We three kids wanted fast food, but Dad said no, so we went to this tiny fancy place and ordered pork chops and
stamppot
(Stamp Pot is mashed potatoes and mixed-up vegetables). Dad also ordered a beer bysaying, “I'll have a Heinie” (for Heineken). I felt like hiding under the table!
My pork chop was good except it had gristle and fat on it, so after I ate everything I liked, I pushed the disgusting stuff to one side of my plate. But even there, it was still grossing me out, so I spooned up the gristle and fat and dumped it onto Dad's plate.
Okay, fine, I realize I don't have the World's Best Manners. But first of all, they're not as bad as Matt's. And second of all, I
always
separate yummy stuff from yucky stuff and transfer the yucky stuff to Dad's plate, and he never minds. A lot of times he even thanks me! At home, when we order in fried rice, I transfer heaping spoonfuls of egg and onions to Dad's plate, and he gobbles up my rejects, happy as can be. (He is a Big Pig, after all.)
The problem was that this time when I transferred the food, I accidentally splashed sauce onto Dad's new striped shirt.
Next thing you know, his striped shirt was polka-dotted with brownish-orangeish specks. Dad quietly checked the damage and took a deep breath. I expectedhim to start ranting about how after wearing the same dirty shirt for days, he finally gets to put on something clean and new and I go and make a mess of it. Or how my table manners are atrocious and I should be ashamed and wait till Mom hears about this. Or something.
Maybe it was because the restaurant was tiny, but Dad stayed quiet. I looked at Cecily and Matt to see if they were smiling or making faces, but they were both staring straight down.
I almost wanted Dad to just start yelling because, well, imagine knowing a volcano is going to explode but not knowing when.
Finally, it occurred to me to say, “Sorry, Dad.”
Using his inside voice, Dad said, “Thank you for apologizing, Melanie. But I do not want you to use my plate as a garbage can anymore. Is that clear?” He was rubbing bubbly water on his shirt.
I nodded, but Dad repeated, “Is that clear?” so I said, “Yes.” I even said “Sorry” again because I was.
My eyes were burning and I was hoping I wouldn't start crying with Cecily right there. But then I did start and I had to keep dabbing my eyes with mynapkin and hoping no one noticed even though everyone probably did.
Pathetically yours,
Dear Diary,
Anne Frank wrote in her diary, “Am I really so bad-mannered, conceited, headstrong, pushing, stupid, lazy, etc., etc., as they all say? Oh, of course not. I have my faults, just like everyone else, but they thoroughly exaggerate everything.”
I want to keep reading, but our train is slowing down.
Time to get off! Holland is so small that we're already here at the North Sea. Sea in Dutch is
zee
.
Dear Diary,
Oh my God, I mean gosh! Mom may be seeing Rembrandts and Mondrians and de Koonings or whoever, but guess what we're seeing? Half-naked people!!! A lot of ladies on this beach are
not
wearing tops!!! They're wearing bikini bottoms and nothing else!!!
It's pretty embarrassing!!!
I wonder if Mom would even approve of Dad's taking us here—especially without her. Well, too late.
Here we are.
Dad is
not
concentrating on his guidebook. And when we got changed into our new bathing suits, he forgot to say one word about sunscreen. Usually he and Mom are
obsessed
with sunscreen. Usually they put sunscreen on the part on the top of my scalp, forgosh sake!
I have to admit that the beach ladies are pretty distracting! You can see their you-know-whats, which, if you ask me, is
completely
inappropriate. And some of the ladies are, well,
ancient
and saggy-baggy.
Matt keeps whispering to Cecily and laughinguncontrollably. But she isn't
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