Her Royal Sugar Highness

“This is my Jasmine voice. My real voice is sleeping.”

-Sis, 3, method actor and sugar tyrant.

Some days feel like a warzone. Others feel like a fever dream sponsored by Disney, sugar, and questionable life choices. Today was the latter.

Princess Jasmine was in a mood- and by that I mean she was unbothered, fully dressed in costume, and demanding a royal outing. Her mom needed some time, Bubs was unconscious, and I had nothing but caffeine and vibes. So off we went... Sis, committed to her Jasmine bit, and me happily cast as Raja, her loyal tiger bestie.

We hop in the car AKA “the magic carpet”, and of course “A Whole New World” is blasting like we’re on our way to the Cave of Wonders. I’m singing the Aladdin parts because I have taste and range, when suddenly-

“MY PART IS COMING UP!! GET READY TO HEAR ME SING!!!”

This tiny pop star warned me before snatching the spotlight like she was on Broadway. And holy hell. she nailed it. Loud. Proud. Zero shame. She hit those Jasmine notes like she paid rent on that high note. I just shut up and drove.

We roll up to the bakery- the one with the ooey gooey cinnamon rolls that make you rethink carbs- closed. Excuse me?? You’re closed? On a Tuesday morning? THE NERVE! We gave a dramatic sigh before I spun the car around and declared, “We’re going to the cakes only place.” The princess gave a royal nod. We were back in business.

Nothing Bundt Cakes? A fuckin’ treasure trove. The ladies inside lost their minds over how cute Jasmine looked. She introduced herself and of them, this icon, said “I’m DeeDee. But you can call me Princess DeeDee if you’d like.” And it was on.

“Can I please have Oreo, Princess DeeDee?”

“Thank you, Princess DeeDee.”

“Have a great day, Princess DeeDee.”

Buy 3 get 1 free with a cute ass cooler bag- SOLD. Sis chose Oreo, red velvet, confetti, and vanilla. Even with a sugar agenda, this girl has standards. She was soaking up the royal treatment like she had a glitter-dripping crown floating over her head.

We get home and she demands a “sampler platter.” I oblige, because obviously. We’re sitting at the table like royalty, licking frosting and giggling like a couple of stoners in a bakery at 2am. She takes a bite, eyes wide, and says “mmmmm yummy, best ever.”

Honestly? Same, Your Majesty.