Blog Post

So I’m a princess. You wanna make something of it?

If you’ve known me long enough – either in real life or online life – you know that every now and then I can be just a touch of a princess. When I went camping one winter with Sweetums, he was a little annoyed he had to invest in new-fangled, state-of-the-art equipment, such as an air mattress, roomy tent, forest potty, Cuddl Duds and blankets. Click here to read my princess camping column.

But I suppose he knew I wasn’t going unless he properly ensconced me. It worked out well if you discount climbing out of the tent in the dark to tinkle in the 34-degree temps. Layers don’t do much good when you have to potty, is all I’m saying. AND, we had to set up camp right beside a babbling brook. Do you know what the sound of a babbling brook does to a middle-aged bladder?

Thankfully, our camp-mates brought mimosas and made eggs and bacon for breakfast, so it was all good … until the next night rolled around.

At home, I occupy what is known as the “princess seat.” It’s really just one end of a regular old sofa but it’s the end with the lounger so I can put my feet up. No one is allowed to sit in the chair when I want it. The first rule of the princess chair is, no one talks about the princess chair. Everyone just knows it’s mine. It would be better if I could talk Sweetums or one of the kids to fan me with palm leaves but, so far, no one will. Hmmm. Maybe that should be the second rule of the princess chair.

I’ve even been known to text Sweetums when he is in the living room and I am in the bedroom – which is on the other side of the wall – asking him to bring me something. Not that I make him wait on me or anything.

I tell you all this to recount something that happened during family movie night last week. Sweetums, Groover and I were watching “King Arthur: Legend of the Sword,” mostly to see Charlie Hunnam shirtless learn about historical legends, when Jude Law, who plays King Vortigen, dismisses a servant with a swish of his hand and the command: “Leave me.”

Casually, I said, “I wish I could dismiss people like that.” I swished my hand and said in an imperious voice, “Leave me.”

In unison, I mean with perfect timing as if they’d been waiting for this moment, Sweetums and Groover said: “You do!”

Well. That was eye-opening. I thought about it and realized I do shoo Groover from my princess chair and, when I’m working, I command ask to be left alone.

For a moment, I wondered if I was being mean when I dismiss my family. But I quickly recovered and realized that, nah, it works for me.

 

 

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