THE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL : THE DEFINITIVE EDITION ... - Fidele

have added' 'Transgressors will be subject to confinement!" Because our bathroom
can be locked from both the inside and the outside.
Mr. van Daan's latest joke:
After a Bible lesson about Adam and Eve, a thirteen-year-old boy asked his father,
"Tell me, Father, how did I get born?"
"Well," the father replied, "the stork plucked you out of the ocean, set you down
in Mother's bed and bit her in the leg, hard. It bled so much she had to stay in
bed for a week."
Not fully satisfied, the boy went to his mother. "Tell me, Mother," he asked, "how
did you get born and how did I get born?"
His mother told him the very same story. Finally, hoping to hear the fine points,
he went to his grandfather. "Tell me, Grandfather," he said, "how did you get born
and how did your daughter get born?" And for the third time he was told exactly
the same story.
That night he wrote in his diary: "After careful inquiry, I must conclude that
there has been no sexual intercourse in our family for the last three
generations!"
I still have work to do; it's already three o'clock.
Yours, Anne M. Frank
PS. Since I think I've mentioned the new cleaning lady, I just want to note that
she's married, sixty years old and hard of hearing! Very convenient, in view of
all the noise that eight people in hiding are capable of mak- ing.
Oh, Kit, it's such lovely weather. If only I could go outside!
WEDNESDAY, MAY 10, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
We were sitting in the attic yesterday afternoon working on our French when
suddenly I heard the splatter of water behind me. I asked Peter what it might be.
Without pausing to reply, he dashed up to the loft-the scene of the disaster --
and shoved Mouschi, who was squatting beside her soggy litter box, back to the
right place. This was followed by shouts and squeals, and then Mouschi, who by
that time had finished peeing, took off downstairs. In search of something similar
to her box, Mouschi had found herself a pile of wood shavings, right over a crack
in the floor. The puddle immediately trickled down to the attic and, as luck would
have it, landed in and next to the potato barrel. The cethng was dripping, and
since the attic floor has also got its share of cracks, little yellow drops were
leaking through the ceiling and onto the dining table, between a pile of stockings
and books.
I was doubled up with laughter, it was such a funny sight. There was Mouschi
crouched under a chair, Peter armed with water, powdered bleach and a cloth, and
Mr. van Daan trying to calm everyone down. The room was soon set to rights, but
it's a well-known fact that cat puddles stink to high heaven. The potatoes proved
that all too well, as did the wood shavings, which Father collected in a bucket
and brought downstairs to burn.