About 2 weeks ago we took our daughter Lily to Disney. Living in Orlando we go often and since, as you may have gathered, Lily is all about the princesses right now, we made fast pass reservations to meet a few of them. For those of you who haven’t been to Disney, fast pass means you go at a certain time and just wait on a short/medium line as opposed to a line that takes so long kids can go through puberty waiting their turn. Especially in the 110 degree summer heat, I’d sooner eat a poison apple than wait in a 75 minute line to meet Snow White.
So we arrive at one of the princess stations to meet Rapunzel and Cinderella. If I had to work as one of the princesses I’d avoid Rapunzel. That big ass braid weighed more than the waif princess schlepping it around. I’d probably be Ariel, I always wanted to see what I’d look like as a ginge, and how often can you get away with wearing a fin? So first we met Rapunzel, she was pretty, sweet, and engaged with Lily as you would expect a fake princess would. We snapped a few pics and were on our way. Next up was Cinderella. Also pretty, but this was different. I get that to some extent all these girls have to drink the Disney Kool-Aid, but this bitch chugged an entire keg. All the girls play the part, but I swear, this chick took it to another level. First she starting talking to Lily about the whole coach turning into a pumpkin at midnight bit. Lily basically looked at her like, WTF are you talking about? Here’s the deal, I let Lily play with all the princess dolls, but she hasn’t watched the “classic” movies. I dislike the whole damsel in distress thing as much as I dislike the word panties. And the whole “prince charming” thing is a crock of shit. The closest person I can think of is maybe Prince William over in the UK, and frankly he’s got some serious male pattern baldness happening. In a few years he’ll be less Prince Charming, and more my Grandpa Irving. Side note, my grandpa was the funniest guy ever and personally I’d take hilarity over hair any day. In Disney’s defense, their more modern princesses line up more with my beliefs. They’re not waiting around for some tool in tight pants and a puffy shirt to ride up on a horse. They have brains, an independent spirit, and chutzpah (Yiddish for a set of balls)
Anyway, this chick playing Cinderella finished with Lily, just when I thought we could snap a quick pic and get out of there, she looked at me and said in her creepy, over the top princess voice, ‘And what will YOU be wearing to the ball?” (she was also a close talker which makes me mental) I really wanted to say, Listen “Cindy,” I’m really only here for my daughter, and I have a yearly pass to the parks so being a good Jew I want to get my money’s worth. But instead, I simply said, “McQueen.” It was the truth because if I were to go to a ball, like say maybe the Met Ball in NYC one day, I’d want to wear an Alexander McQueen dress. Cinderella had no clue what I meant which was fine, because she stopped talking and smiled for the 137th princess picture I’ll never order and we were on our way. And with that, sorry Cinderella, you are the DB of the day.