Princesses have overtaken my life and thrown up on every part of it.
Princess purses, princess cakes, princess phones, princess pillowcases, princess dresses, princess toothbrushes, princess CDs, princess movies, princess dolls, princess bows, princess shoes, princess balloons. Princess, princess, princess. Anyone with a three year old girl is nodding their head in commiseration.
I swear I didn’t mean for it to come to this.
I avoided princesses.
Happily ever after, phooey.
But somehow they snuck into my life and dug their perfectly manicured nails into every part of the moosh’s (and therefore my) existence.
Unrealistic ideals? False idols? Too much pressure on beauty and materialism?
But you know what?
I’d prance around in a princess dress every day if I could. I could easily break out into song at a moments notice. And these princesses are nice girls. They love their parents. They love their princes. They’re monogamous. They love their friends. They love animals. They love personal hygiene. They love nature and they love a good tea party.
And we all know how a good tea party can turn a bad day good.
So until some princess comes along with a roach clip, a forty, a potty mouth and a pack of condoms. I’m going to let them stick around. There’s nothing wrong with wanting happily ever after.
Now if I could just get that damn fairy godmother to show up…