When I was little, I always wondered why my grandmother hated me. Anytime we had a family event, she barely acknowledged my presence. She never hugged or anything. My childlike assumption was that she must be evil. And I assumed, much like Disney villains, it was nothing about me personally. I just stood in the way of her world domination.
One day, I found a photo on our entertainment center. It was an old picture, but the woman looked an awful lot like me. I asked my mother who it was, and she said it was my grandmother. I laughed. My mother was clearly mistaken. That nice woman with the dark hair looked nothing like the evil, blonde lady who didn’t want me on her furniture.
My mother explained that the lady in the picture was her real mother who had died a very long time ago. The blonde lady, whom I had been forced to hug against her will my entire life, was her stepmother, who had hated everyone ever. Things suddenly made sense. The evil grandmother was my mother’s stepmother. I was living a Disney fairytale! This made my mother the princess who was persecuted by her evil stepmother. But my mother was married and therefore a queen, which made me a princess!
All my life I had been a Disney princess and no one had ever bothered to tell me. No one had given me a tiara, and I never had an animal friend who could talk. I may be a different kind of princess, but I am one just the same. I’ll just go buy myself a tiara for Christmas!