What Happens When Mommy's the Princess

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Since I failed to be pained by a pea beneath my mattress, it's clear that I'm no Princess. However, I'm pretty sure I was a Princess in my last life since certain sensitivities and snobberies persist despite my current modest place in society.

Take my delicate, thin-skinned, long-fingered hands, for example. These are not the hands of a peasant or craftsman; these are hands that chap at the touch of household cleaners and become useless at the sight of toys thrown in the toilet. These are the hands of someone who had a plethora of servants in another era.

And don't even think about putting costume jewellery on these dainty hands! Only 18 karat gold (and up) will do. The same goes for these tender earlobes and creamy neck. My husband experimented with 14 karat gold earrings as a Valentine's Day gift, thinking it was all in my head, and lo and behold, my ears wept,  crusted over, and soon were aglow with the fire of infection. Only folks with substantial means can afford 18 karat gold, no?

I loathe housework of any kind, but spend copious amounts of time in the kitchen preparing a variety of culinary delights. This would seem out of character for a Princess, but since our household budget is equivalent to what a Princess would spend on her dog, if I want to eat the high-class food I deserve, I must make it myself. While we're on the subject of dining, let it be known that I absolutely cannot tolerate cheap wine. A mere sip will give me a sore throat and cough for the rest of the evening. Give me a fine Amarone, Valpolicella, Chianti or Malbec, and I can manage much more. If I have too much, my alter ego pipes up and I start ordering people around. A true sign I used to be a person of power.

Princess Mama

Credit Image:Craig Cloutier Photography via Flickr


And why else every time my husband does something disgusting would I jump to the conclusion that he's secretly trying to kill me? Most women would roll their eyes and exclaim, "Men!" along with some colorful adjectives. Obviously, in at least one of my past lives, I was a royal at risk of assassination!

So you see, friends, life as a middle-class commoner has been challenging for me, but I endure with grace and will continue to make the most of my circumstances. When the girls learn about Disneyland and think we should go there to see the Princesses, I will tell them there's no need because there's a former Princess (does it matter how many lifetimes ago?) in the house. They will be thrilled to learn all about Princesses from me and be amazed that I was able to conceal my true self for so long. Or, they're think I'm full of crap in which case my secret will remain safe. I'm only sharing it with you so you don't think I'm crazy every time I complain about cleaning or my husband secretly trying to kill me.

Now hand me my fucking tiara!

Karen

www.nakedmommydiaries.com 

The Naked Truth About Parenting

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