I suppose its only fitting. My Old Man has called me Princess from the beginning. Never viewed myself as a princess, really. A contessa, certainly. A duchess, indubitably. But he stuck with it and I’ve learned to accept it as a term of endearment, and not that he thinks I”m a selfish, stuck-up, snooty girl with too many shoes and no sense of fiscal responsibility. (yeah, I don’t have very positive views of the word–sorry Kate.)
So, I suppose it follows that our son would take on certain royal habits. Now I don’t’ mean noblesse oblige or any sort of droit de seigneur. No, no–just a simple decree:
*sound the heralding trumpets*
“Upon royal decree, let it hereby be known that upon waking from naps or any sort of sleeping activity, or any such time as His Majesty demands it, no one shall look upon the royal personage without strict consequences, such as the slamming of doors, shouting, or general mayhem. None shall make eye contact, nor even move until His Royal Highness has acknowledged that sleeping time is now over, and you may bask in his divine presence.”
Yeah. I’m not kidding. He gets up, opens the door–and if you so much as acknowledge him in any way he shouts “NO!” and slams the door again. Now I get it: waking up is hard to do–although it doesn’t seem that hard for him to do at 530am–but I digress. Waking up from a nap can be disorienting and disturbing. Especially if that last image he saw of me was *angry face* telling him to “take a nap, NOW.” And then he’s greeted with *smiley face* “hey there sunshine!”
And in all honesty–this is pure jealousy. I would love to choose when people could interact with me and when they can’t. I mean–who was one of the first customers on the Ralph’s self-checkout lane, heh? And think about those times when some people look at you that you really wish wouldn’t.
Like the homeless dude on the freeway overpass that you gave money to like two weeks ago, but he remembers your face and is always LOOKING at you like, “hey lady–cough it up!” when all you’ve got is a gum wrapper and .27 in change, and plenty of good intentions.
Or the weird interchange I had this weekend when some dude was lookin at me all cockeyed–like my dress was all hiked up or something, (but it wasn’t–phew!) and when i returned the look to him, he just got MORE cockeyed, to which I almost blurted a very New York “what the fuck YOU lookin’ at?”–but didn’t out of, I don’t know, a false sense of propriety or some such. (or the fact that my husband was with me and he has a tendency to get a little POSTAL when he feels I am being threatened by another male. unga. and also bunga.)
And I’ve mentioned the bagger at Ralphs. Yes, Sherri, I’ve taken into consideration he may have social skills issues, and his foreign background. Doesn’t make it any less creepy.
Or if you came face to face with this scenario:
So this afternoon, when my son tentatively opens his door, I must feign ignorance on the matter and wait for his approach–which is usually quite sweet and affectionate. For that, I think I can follow the royal decree.