Kisses and Desks

There is a very important part of every princess's life. The moment usually defines the story of the princess and is the climactic moment of her existence. It is pivotal, it is breathtaking, and it happened to me this week: I was kissed for the first time. On the lips. By a boy a little older than me. On purpose, and not the accidental type that happen when I turn my head as my daddy tries to kiss my cheek. And to tell you the truth, it was not what I thought it would be: it was just a boy shoving his lips on mine when his parents told him to. Perhaps I just won't count that one and wait for the stars, the butterflies, the birds singing, and other things I have never actually witnessed and have no clue as to why I have this preconceived notion about first kisses as I've never seen a princess movie. I don't know if I really want to marry him, either, as he and his sister seemed to have a little too much energy for my liking and disturbed me from having a peaceful evening. I am also not quite sure whether or not he is of royal blood, so that would rule him out as a possible suitor. I think that they were performers there for my enjoyment, so I watched them as such, but then they demanded a little too much audience participation for my liking. Like most people, they did not understand the concept that princesses do not appreciate being poked in the face or patted or any other egregious violations of my personal bubble. It is alright, however, I have a long list of possible future Mr. Eleanor Gates' in the pool. This one is also not out of the picture yet, he may just require some refinement. And some money.

Some may wonder how it is that I know that I am a princess. It is simple: It's just true. Daddy calls me a princess, I am carried everywhere I go as if on some sort of low-budget litter (I have to talk to the Royal Family about getting it updated with a bed and being carried on people's shoulders), I have a throne, and everyone does what I ask them when I ask them to do it. It does appear to be lost in translation, however, as they at times carry me where I never told them to take me, but I have learned that I might as well go along for the ride and see what entertainment they are introducing me to next. I only complain once they take me wherever it is, as I humor them up until the moment they lay me down. The closest thing I have to a litter right now is my carriage seat, and I do not appreciate being strapped and restrained into that. My throne is referred to by my parents as a Bumbo, which I find astoundingly unprofessional. I usually get upset while in there, and they interpret that to mean that I do not like sitting on my throne, but I am actually just bossing them around like any good monarch sitting on a throne does. I sat in it just today, with its desk attached, and enjoyed watching my parents work in the kitchen as if servants as I barked orders and shook my keys at them, demanding to be driven somewhere scenic. When they did not understand my message, I attempted to throw the desk, but it was fairly securely attached, no matter how easily they made its removal appear. Daddy simply took pictures of me, so I stopped my smiling so that I appeared more serious and regal. He kept encouraging me to smile, and I would acquiesce, but only until the shot was being taken. I am so good at being a monarch.

Love,

Princess Ellie