Sunday, December 20th, my room in the castle in Never Ever land
As usual, when we got off the plane last night, we were surrounded by Armani suited men and Gucci pumped women each firing out questions at the rate of 1.5 per second. Camera lights were flashing and blasting fireworks were welcoming us home. So what else is new? I started doing my royal duty and waved to all the little people, but I didn't notice that my blouse was a bit tight. I raised my arm for another round of enthusiastic hellos and R-I-I-P-P, my armpit hair was exposed for the whole wide world to see. Grand-Mere and company were pushed aside and all the attention was focused on that part of my body. Talk about humiliation! Lars was the first to snap out of the shock and covered me with his furry overcoat. My face was burning red. I wanted so bad to get Lars to give me his Swiss Army knife so I could dig a hole for me to hide in. I swear, those little contraptions have everything. Dad threw his arm around me and we hightailed it to the getaway car. Why did I have to inherit the klutz gene? William, Grand-Mere and Bellene piled in after us. Beverly was still out there looking for the shoe she lost when the reporters trampled over her to get a picture of me. Bellene was the only one comforting me by saying that she'll send letters to the press warning them (blackmailing them) not to print the pictures and no one will know about this. I totally didn't believe her, look what happened to Pamela Anderson and... Lee? What's his name, whatever. Everyone else was busy feeling ashamed and embarrassed to be either related or associated with me in any way. Lars braved the crowd and went out to rescue Beverly. Ah, the perfect end to the perfect day.
Later on Sunday
People have no respect for privacy here. There I was, writing in my journal imagining that I was all alone then BAM! My five or so ladies in waitings burst into the room carrying brushes, hairdryers, makeup, clothes, heels and I even think I saw someone carrying a hot plate for god knows what reason. They spared a second to curtsy and say good morning:
Women: How was your rest last night your highness?
Me: WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING HERE???
Women: Her majesty asked us to come here and prepare you for breakfast.
That was the end of our chitchat. They pulled me out of bed and everyone was working different parts of my body all at once. My hair was being tugged and violently combed, someone else yanked my hand towards her and started filing them, and someone even had the courage to yank off my slipper and gave me a pedicure. One and a half hours, after makeup, hair and clothes later, I was ready to sweep some poor sucker off his feet. I wished Michael could have been here to see me, but he wasn't. He was in New York, maybe tearing up his ticket, or getting ready to go out with it. I hoped it was the first action; I couldn't live with myself if it was the second. Pushing him out of my thoughts for now at least, I tamed my nervousness and went down to eat. Hunger does that to you. It can give you the flare of courage you need at desperate times to do just about anything to feed it. Like in a really bad dream, everyone was already at the dining table watching me waltz down the spiral staircase. The graceful act didn't quite work out. I tripped over the hem of my dress and went flying down the last 15 steps. It's destiny, these things just keep on happening to me, myself and I. Everyone was staring at me with a mixture of concern and disgust. I'm starting to think that Bellene was the one who was biologically related to me since my so-called FAMILY didn't even offer me a hand. She pulled me up and brushed the dirt from the back of my dress.
GM: Well, good morning Mia.
Me: Goo...good morning.
Dad: Are you all right?
Me: Yee...yeah, just great.
Dad: Very well then, come join us for breakfast.
How could I humiliate myself like that? Heck, I was ashamed of myself. Maybe I should just change my name to Trudy and hitchhike back to America. It would have spared everyone all the trouble I was going to put them through. I didn't create any more incidents through the meal, unless you counted the time when I started eating my pineapple with my fingers and everybody turned to stare at me. I quickly picked up my fork and THAT was ignored afterwards. No biggie.
As usual, when we got off the plane last night, we were surrounded by Armani suited men and Gucci pumped women each firing out questions at the rate of 1.5 per second. Camera lights were flashing and blasting fireworks were welcoming us home. So what else is new? I started doing my royal duty and waved to all the little people, but I didn't notice that my blouse was a bit tight. I raised my arm for another round of enthusiastic hellos and R-I-I-P-P, my armpit hair was exposed for the whole wide world to see. Grand-Mere and company were pushed aside and all the attention was focused on that part of my body. Talk about humiliation! Lars was the first to snap out of the shock and covered me with his furry overcoat. My face was burning red. I wanted so bad to get Lars to give me his Swiss Army knife so I could dig a hole for me to hide in. I swear, those little contraptions have everything. Dad threw his arm around me and we hightailed it to the getaway car. Why did I have to inherit the klutz gene? William, Grand-Mere and Bellene piled in after us. Beverly was still out there looking for the shoe she lost when the reporters trampled over her to get a picture of me. Bellene was the only one comforting me by saying that she'll send letters to the press warning them (blackmailing them) not to print the pictures and no one will know about this. I totally didn't believe her, look what happened to Pamela Anderson and... Lee? What's his name, whatever. Everyone else was busy feeling ashamed and embarrassed to be either related or associated with me in any way. Lars braved the crowd and went out to rescue Beverly. Ah, the perfect end to the perfect day.
Later on Sunday
People have no respect for privacy here. There I was, writing in my journal imagining that I was all alone then BAM! My five or so ladies in waitings burst into the room carrying brushes, hairdryers, makeup, clothes, heels and I even think I saw someone carrying a hot plate for god knows what reason. They spared a second to curtsy and say good morning:
Women: How was your rest last night your highness?
Me: WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING HERE???
Women: Her majesty asked us to come here and prepare you for breakfast.
That was the end of our chitchat. They pulled me out of bed and everyone was working different parts of my body all at once. My hair was being tugged and violently combed, someone else yanked my hand towards her and started filing them, and someone even had the courage to yank off my slipper and gave me a pedicure. One and a half hours, after makeup, hair and clothes later, I was ready to sweep some poor sucker off his feet. I wished Michael could have been here to see me, but he wasn't. He was in New York, maybe tearing up his ticket, or getting ready to go out with it. I hoped it was the first action; I couldn't live with myself if it was the second. Pushing him out of my thoughts for now at least, I tamed my nervousness and went down to eat. Hunger does that to you. It can give you the flare of courage you need at desperate times to do just about anything to feed it. Like in a really bad dream, everyone was already at the dining table watching me waltz down the spiral staircase. The graceful act didn't quite work out. I tripped over the hem of my dress and went flying down the last 15 steps. It's destiny, these things just keep on happening to me, myself and I. Everyone was staring at me with a mixture of concern and disgust. I'm starting to think that Bellene was the one who was biologically related to me since my so-called FAMILY didn't even offer me a hand. She pulled me up and brushed the dirt from the back of my dress.
GM: Well, good morning Mia.
Me: Goo...good morning.
Dad: Are you all right?
Me: Yee...yeah, just great.
Dad: Very well then, come join us for breakfast.
How could I humiliate myself like that? Heck, I was ashamed of myself. Maybe I should just change my name to Trudy and hitchhike back to America. It would have spared everyone all the trouble I was going to put them through. I didn't create any more incidents through the meal, unless you counted the time when I started eating my pineapple with my fingers and everybody turned to stare at me. I quickly picked up my fork and THAT was ignored afterwards. No biggie.