Shall I tell you of the day you were born?

Well, I was sitting around at home, and I was surfing the net. My husband Slippy, who was a mere fiance at the time, was away, working in Dallas. I came home from work that night and fixed supper for me and your big sis, Shelby. We ate, and I put her in the bathtub. (This is where the romance comes in) I sat down at my beloved computer, and went into my history. There were weird links there I had never seen before! Links, with weird little names like Dirty-a-Sid and Crackbaby. So I went to one. And there was a link to Slippy... this is when I found his diary. It was full of incriminating evidence. For example, there were all kinds of entries about how he skipped out of work, or had gone to a party or out to the bars, when he had told me to my face completely different stories! I was mad, little diary. Very very mad. So I cannot tell you that you were conceived out of love. For you were not. You were conceived out of anger.

I sat there in front of the computer and contemplated a name for you. I had a few good ones going around in my head, but then a smile began to creep across my face as I typed in "Chodagirl." It was perfect, and fit you well. (You have definately lived up to your name!) You gave me a way to tell Slippy, indirectly of course, that I was on to his little secret. I was not the idiot he wanted me to be. He was the idiot for not clearing the history after he had read our friend's diaries. So, I added my first entry. I called it "Suicide Attempt #1." Why I called it that, I'll never know. And then I called Slippy and gave him the URL. He was speechless. He asked how I found Diaryland. And then it was time... time for me to say: "You didn't clear your history, Slipspace." Muhaahaahaa!

So there you were. So young and innocent. Completely unaware of the secrets and wrong doings I would soon fill you with. Corruption... total corruption. But you have not let me down. You know some pretty nasty things about me. Some, I have even censored now in case your link ever falls into the wrong hands.

But most important, you are loved. You are loved by me, your owner, who diligently takes care of you. You are a dear friend, and I enjoy our slumber parties where you let me give you a complete make-over! And you have made some good friends on Diaryland. Although the number is not great, there are about 30 people who love to keep up with your daily rants.

Yes, darling, you are grand. And I thank you with all 10 finger tips!

Love,

Your Owner and Friend,