Hello. My name is Florence Roberge and I am eight years old. I started a diary. I think it's a good idea because I can talk about my friends Emma, Charlie and Ling. There is also FÔelix who comes to play with us even though he's a guy. And I can also talk about my parents. There is dad who works in his convenience store. He shows me how the cash register works and he makes me laugh. There is mom who often gives me a lot of beaks and with whom I watch a lot of horror movies even if dad doesn't like it. Sometimes mom and dad have a hard time arguing about me. Dad says I'm weird and we should have listened to the doctor I saw last year. Mom doesn't agree, she says I'm not weird and calls daddy a panaro, or whatever. This is where they argue. I don't understand anything they say. My uncle Hubert told me that no one is allowed to read other people's diaries. That's fun, because I'm going to be able to write everything down, even the things that I would get quibbled about if we knew I had done them. Like what happened when I went to see the dead rat in the bin ...