This year has been the year of the princess. I don't know who started it or when the glitter first leaked in, but my rough and tumble football playing, dirt digging, lover of cars, trucks, trains and bugs has turned pink. For her birthday she was thoroughly princessed--books, crowns, wands, purses, she even got a fanny pack containing eyeshadow, lipstick, and a cell phone with princesses on it! (Thanks, Joni.) The other day she came into the kitchen wearing a wedding dress (Yes, she's three and she has one. Thanks, Mom.), glittery fairy wings, and a veil which, of course, she topped with a crown of flowers. She came up behind me while I was emptying the dishwasher and whacked me on the back of my knees with her sparkly purple wand.
"I turned you into something!" she declared.
She could have made me just about anything. I was curious as to what she came up with.
"What?" I asked.
"A washing machine!" Son of a bitch.
"I don't want to be a washing machine," I told her. "Change me into something else."
I got whacked again. "Okay, Mommy, now you're a beer!"
Now that's more like it.
Later that day she put her wings back on and said to me, "Let's be princesses! I'm the Fairy-god-stepmother and you can be Cinderella because you are cleaning the kitchen."
I'd rather be the beer. At least then I could drink myself.
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