A Real Princess
I titled this picture “The little princess in tulle.” Goldie will always be my princess. Abbie is more like My Little Ninja.
Last night I went to the Target toy section, which is conveniently divided into pink aisles and blue aisles, so you won’t get your toys with a side of gender equity.
The pink aisles are so…princessy, aren’t they? It’s like a band of roving princesses took over all of the toy workshops of the world, pointed guns at the toymakers, and forced them to make only toys that princesses would like or it’s “EAT LEAD, GEPPETTO!”
Princesses and ponies fit for princesses, that’s pretty much it for girl toys.
I want someone to ask little girls if they’d really like to be princesses. I’d have to explain the real Princess deal to them: Sure, people fawn over you and you get to live in a castle, but everyone also watches your every move.
If you were a princess and got pizza sauce on your dress, 100 people would take a picture of you and post it on Facebook with “Can you believe she’s a princess? She sure doesn’t eat like one!”
I think it would be exhausting to be a princess, and there’s no such thing as a part-time princess. You either are or you aren’t. And once you are, you can’t just say “Oh, hey, I changed my mind.” Unless the prince grants you an amiable divorce and you go on to become a highly paid weight loss plan spokesprincess. But that’s a whole different fairy tale.