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.

So we rented our last 2 houses, and one of the perks is that the owner pays for all the maintenance on the house, including the pool, so once a week a guy would come and take care of it.  I definitely saw him here and there, but never actually had a conversation with him. It’s not that I wouldn’t, it just hadn’t happened. The truth is, being a stay at home mom right now, I seriously crave adult conversation. I find it’s getting harder and harder to act interested when Lily tells me that Elsa has to wear the purple dress because Anna is wearing her pink dress, but Elsa really wants to wear the orange and yellow dress that Cinderella is wearing.  And they all want new sparkly shoes. Sure I smile and act totally interested, but in my head I’m thinking, I just don’t give a crap what any of these bitches are wearing, and frankly, that side-braid Elsa has is on my last nerve. I don’t know why, it just is. And while I’m at it, it’s time to cut Rapunzel’s damn hair.  I’d like to modernize the story, instead of her ‘letting down her hair’ so the prince can climb up, how ’bout we send a top tier hairdresser up instead to cut off about 3 feet, and add some layers.  Hell, she might even have the face for a textured bob.  And all the excess hair can make a bunch of wigs for kids with cancer.  Boom!  Modern with a message.

So one day I was out back playing with my daughter when the pool guy happened to come.  I said hello, he said hello back and then asked me if I had gotten the note he had left me. I said no as I had not seen a note from him.  He said he had left me one asking us to fill up the pool a bit as the water was too low. I guess it can affect the motor or some shit like that. He then asked me if I had gotten any of the notes he had left me over the past couple months, again I responded no.  I asked him where he’d been leaving them and he showed me.  If I was trying to hide something from someone, I would put it where this guy was leaving these alleged notes.  It was behind this outdoor bar we have, in the corner, and the only thing there is a spiderweb due to lack of use.  My confusion over his note placement was probably obvious when I asked what these notes said. He told me that sometimes he has to treat the pool with certain chemicals and advises people not to swim for a certain amount of time after.  Well that’s just perfect, we take Lily in the pool a lot so chances are she was swimming with the chemicals, and then there’s her penchant for swallowing pool water. I bust my ass to buy organic and always made all her damn food from scratch, only to discover she’s ingesting sodium-bisulfate and muriatic acid.  Thinking about that seriously made me want to leave my pool guy a very conspicuous note telling him he’s a dick.  But wasn’t going to happen, so I just shot him passive aggressive dirty looks and today I’m making him the` douchebag of the day.