May Day! May Day!
Ah, that little bit of word work could only come from one of my faeries. Hello there, Princess!
Princess: Hello, Annie. Working on your fanny?
Anne: Emmm... do you mean, sitting around writing a book about fossils, or getting fatter in the derriere?
Anne: And it was you who "misplaced" my research material, right?
Princess: Left. I never say that "r" word that rhymes with fight and flight.
Anne: Princess, I watched a podcast on Yahoo a few days ago that said it's no good for little girls to dress up and play pretty princess. The announcer said that it amounts to a dread conspiracy by Disney to make all women air-heads.
Princess: And I presume you're not going to be winking or linking to that stinking bit of balderdash.
Anne: (to readers) Don't you just love the way faeries talk? (to Princess) Alas, I stink at the link. I think. Wink wink. You look pretty in pink.
Princess: To answer your question, I do believe you'll find more than a few fiery females who spent their tender years playing princess. Present company excepted.
Anne: Can I help it if I was the only girl with a bunch of boy cousins who would rather play Vietnam? Seriously, I just do not see a problem here, except within the concept that you need a prince to save the day. Guess I avoided that playing Vietnam.
Princess: Anne, I hate to relate this twist of fate, but your daughter The Spare played Princess Jasmine with such relish that you feared the pictures you took might have wound up on the Internet. And was it not you, you Annie girl, who took her to Ross over the weekend and lavished her with a gooey gown for yet another Bas Mitzvah?
Anne: Guilty as charged. But stay, coy fey! Oy vey! My daughter The Heir loved being a pretty princess too. Would you please explain the Les Claypool t-shirt and the fact that she hasn't touched a grain of makeup in two years?
Princess: (yawn) A hum drum conundrum. Everyone is an individual. And don't you think you have more influence over your kids than Disney does? I know for a fact that you're teaching The Spare how to cook and The Heir how to wallow in weirdness. They're not getting their ideas from Disney.
Anne: Iron Chef Cat Cora, more like it.
Princess: I don't have any Calgon. How about a dragon?
Anne: Princess, I have only a few more questions. First, are you going with me to the Fairie Festival at Spoutwood Farm? (I linked that before, you can scroll down.)
Princess: Can I be frank? You are a lazy ass, Anne. Didn't even link Cat Cora. But yes, a thousand times yes, I wouldn't miss the Fairie Festival.
Anne: Do you have any ideas what we can say to those wacked Christians who stand by the fence and yell, "May Day! May Day! That's what pilots say when they're about to crash and burn ... which is what you sinful pagans are going to do!"
Princess: There at the fair lurk the jerks. But you should feel sorry for them, Anne. They don't know that as pilots go down to crash and burn, they're summoning the Gentry of Sidhe with our lovely rhyming holy day.
Anne: Why, Princess. I never thought of that. So, can you help me outline my fossil book?
Princess: Just go look in the mirror. You're getting to be a fossil yourself. The book can all be autobiographical.
Anne: That's what I get for asking help of a faerie. Okay, I'll play hardball. If you don't help me with fossils, Princess, I'll stay home from the fairie festival and separate out my winter clothes.
Princess: Sedimentation... trace fossils ... amber (ooo, I like amber!) ... Homo erectus (ooo, I like him too!)