November 23

Dear, Diary,

I woke up to Mabel hitting me with her pink kitty cat pillow today. Surprisingly, she can hit pretty hard. For a girl.

At first, I ignored her, thinking that would work. I should have known better. After all, Mabel doesn't give up so easily.

"Dipper! Wake! Up!" she said, hitting me with every word. I rubbed my eyes sleepily and looked up at her.

"What do you want?" I said, irritated. Don't get me wrong, I love Mabel. But sometimes, well, a lot of times, she's really obnoxious and annoying.

"Dipper, don't you know what day it is?" she asked, shocked. She wasn't hitting me anymore. That was good.

"No," I said, pulling the covers over my head. Of course, Mabel stripped them off and opened the window, blinding me.

"Aaaaargh!" I moaned, shielding my face. I hated it when she did that. It was like your eyes were on fire.

"Dipper, it's November 23!" she said.

Oh god. November 23?! No.

"What?! Why?!" I asked, then noticing how stupid that question was.

"I don't know, Dipper! Because it just is!" she said like I was stupid. Yeah, I deserved that.

So you're probably wondering what November 23 is. It's just another ordinary day, right?

Well maybe to you, but for Mabel and I, November 23 has a lot more to it. It's the day Gruncle Stan's mother comes to town for Thanksgiving.

You might have noticed that we don't like his mother.

Well obviously! Otherwise we wouldn't have been freaking out that much.

I quickly hopped out of bed, throwing the covers back. I ran to the bathroom to brush my teeth, Mabel looking at me in confusion. I threw on a pair of shorts and my red t- shirt. I grabbed my hat, slipped on my vest, and stepped into my shoes.

"Okay," I said, walking down the stairs with Mabel. "We have a lot of work to do today. Anything that's ours needs to be thrown in the closet, hidden until she leaves. We need vacume all of Sues' chip crums, wash the dishes, turn all the TV channels to the soap operas-"

"Kids," said a de-stressed Gruncle Stan as we entered the kitchen, "You both know what day it is, right?' he asked. It was in that tone that said if we didn't know, he was going to get angry. Like, insanely angry.

"Yes, Gruncle Stan," we both said.

"Good," he said, a look of relief in his eyes. "She's going to be here in twenty minutes, so... I don't know get to work."

"We're on it!" said Mabel, saluting him. She rushed back upstairs, doing who knows what. We both turned to watch her leave.

"Dipper," said Gruncle Stan, "I have a special job for you," he said in his business tone.

Great. Every time Stan had a "special" job for me, it actually was something dreadful and not so fun to do.

"Gruncle Stan," I started, "How come I always have to do the hard things? Why not make Mabel do it for a change?"

"Because Mabel is a girl. She's too soft." There was a pause.

"Look, kid, when I make you do these things, it's because I don't want you to be... well, like your sister. I want you to be a man. I make you do these things because I care about you."

I looked up at him.

"Really?"

"Well, yeah."

I smiled. So he really did like me...

"Anyway," he said, changing the subject, "About that special job. I want you to bake the pie."

A brick fell down my stomach. How in the world was that manly?

"You want me to-"

"Yes! Now do it!"

"But Gruncle Stan, I don't-"

"Here's the instructions," he said, handing me a pamphlet with a recipe for coconut cream pie. I held it in my hand, the picture of the pie mocking me.

"You know who would really like to do this? Mabel! She loves baking."

"Sorry," he said, "but Mabel also likes to clean things for fun, which means if she was baking that pie, she wouldn't be cleaning everything I was supposed to. So good luck! And remember, Mom goes crazy without her pie, so no pressure!"

He walked out laughing, and I just stood there, stunned. Was this seriously happening?!

Figuring I should just get started, I went to the pantry and got out all the ingredients. I sighed, wishing I could be doing something else. Hopefully nobody saw me doing this.

As I stood on my tip toes to reach for the sugar, my hand hit something gnarly and hard. Puzzled, but also curious, and grabbed it to see what it was.

Before me I held a key. A golden, rusted key. I examined it, wondering if maybe it went to something. Gruncle Stan had obviously wanted it hidden, so I held onto it. I dropped it into my pocket, and I continued baking.

"Stanford!" said Mrs. Pines, walking into the house and dropping her luggage. She looked at him skeptically. "Oh... you really put on some weight there, didn't you?"

"Well enough about me!" said Stan, walking to me and Mabel. "Come see the kids!"

Mrs. Pines bent down to reach our height.

"Ah, Mabel and Skipper! How lovely to see you two again!" She said, ruffling our hair. "Oh, Stan, they're so adorable!" she cooed.

"Actually, my name is-"

"Lets go eat some pie!" Stan interrupted me. He stopped me on the way to the kitchen.

"Hey, for the rest of the week, you're Skipper, got it? The lady doesn't like to be corrected."

"Got it," I moaned.

I sat down to my slice of pie. If you asked me, I thought I did a wonderful job. I dug my fork into the soft white cream, and I took a heaping bite.

Suddenly, the sound of someone gagging filled the room.

"WHO in the world made this disgusting thing?!" said Mrs. Pines, throwing down her fork. I didn't dare say I did it.

"Dipper. It was Dipper!" said Stan pointing fingers.

"I actually think it's good," said Mabel, her face covered in whipped cream and her pie completely gone.

"Yeah, me too!" I said, taking another bite to annoy her.

"I forgot I didn't like this one," she said, eyeing me. Great.

Well, that was pretty much my whole day. I could tell you the part about Pacifica deciding to come over to the Mystery Shack, or the part where Mrs. Pines and me had a mini golf battle, but I don't think it's worth mentioning. Until next time!

-Dipper

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