Princess Parade

She doesn’t play dress-up… She enters with BOSS BITCH in her veins. She’s got a gown for every royal in the kingdom and if she doesn’t? Oh, she’ll just snatch something vaguely color-coordinated from her closet and gaslight us all into believing it is Belle’s. Don’t fight it. She will win.

“This is trifficult,” she’ll say, arms tangled in a puff-sleeve fever dream. So I step in. I zip, I button, I adjust the crown, I retrieve the shoe. I’m the footman who knows my place. Once she’s dressed, we don’t just go about our day. No no. We make our grand entrance into the playroom.

She insists on a full presentation and I live for this shit. Sometimes I present her as Queen of England with sixteen made-up middle names. Sometimes I channel my inner WWE announcer and shout her entrance like she’s about to body slam a dragon. Occasionally, I introduce her in various animal languages. It depends on the vibe. It’s always a vibe.

She doesn’t just wear the outfit, she becomes the character. If she’s Elsa, I’m basically some forgotten Arendelle extra. If she’s a troll, I’m a tree stump with emotional depth. Everyone gets assigned a role, and she remembers it. Switches identities like a method actor on Adderall. It’s kind of terrifying how fast she can shapeshift.

She’s not pretending. She’s creating, commanding, becoming… And I’m just lucky to be part of her kingdom. This child has the kind of imagination that could power a small planet. Weird ass memory, though- She’ll forget to wipe, but somehow still remembers exactly which character you were four costume changes ago. And she expects you to commit because she sure as hell does.

I can see it in some people’s eyes: they don’t get it. They get annoyed when she insists on calling them “Hei Hei” or “Cloud Guy”. They roll their eyes when she corrects them for breaking character. They don’t see it for what it is-an entire universe in motion, built from the glitter dusted gears of a tiny mind.

I will never dim her shine to make anyone else more comfortable. If she wants to be a fucking princess/dragon/mermaid hybrid and rename me “Sloppy Joe the Friendly Shadow,” then that’s my name for the day. End of discussion.

If we’re not careful, if we don’t nurture this fire and stand out of her way… She’s going to outgrow us, outsmart us, and out-fantasy every last one of us. And honestly? Good. Let the next generation reign.