Monday, July 28, 2008

A Quick Vacation

Forgive me, but I'm leaving you!

Okay, put your inhaler down, I'm only going to be gone for a week and I'm sure that you can handle it. Let me rephrase that... I'm sure that you will not need psychiatric treatment due to my absense. Wait... let's try again. I'm sure that you will be able to handle your life without my banter to medicate you. No? Okay. Well, I'm sure that you will survive and welcome me back with open arms.

So why am I leaving you? Basically I just like to see you suffer! Not really! Actually, my Prozac stock is faltering and I need to increase my earnings. Unfortunately, I find I'm probably their best customer so I'm just trying to offset my own expenses here!

I'll be visiting the Fairy Godmother and Cletus (yeah, I've got no other nickname for him, if you met my Dad, you'd understand!)

I'm sure that the Ogre-Child will return from our vacation with this misinterpretation that the world should bow town and kiss her dirty toes and cater to her every whim. Spoiled? Not at all!! I mean, it's not like the kid got her first car at conception (thank you Grampa!). It's not like the child doesn't have ever stuffed animal, noise maker, outfit, or other random cool item on the market in the last year. NOOOOOOO! It's not like her room is exploding out into the rest of the home! No... she's not spoiled in the slightest!

So we're leaving Prince Charming to fend for himself, to make a 6 hour trip to the BOONDOCKS! When I say "boondocks" I mean, it's not the middle of nowhere, but you can see nowhere from the top of the hills. I mean, dial-up internet burns my ass but at least they have running water! I mean, watching the grass grow is their idea of "family fun"!

But I'm sure we'll have a great deal of fun. The Ogre-Child will be totally ENTHRALLED!!

Of course we have notified the proper authorities that my Mother & I will be in the same state. There's some stupid law on the books that says no two Fairy Tale Creatures may gather in the same location without proper licensing procedures. The FBI has staff on hand to handle this situation. I believe there will probably be a Federal Marshall stationed at the end of my Mother's driveway in case we get any bright ideas to terrorize society.

If I can work up the courage to brave dial-up internet, I'll try to pop in for a good old-fashion HOWDY, but I can't guarantee I have enough Prozac to handle dial-up without causing physical harm to my mother's computer. So if you don't hear from me, take a little extra medication, have a glass of wine and try not to let your alter-ego attack your loved ones.

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Saturday, July 26, 2008

Fairy Tale Summers

Today I was reading about a fellow blogger taking her kids swimming. It got me thinking back to days gone by. Long ago before I became a Real Life Fairy Tale Princess and asked the editors to remove a few characters from the plot.

When I was a young Princess-to-be, my family used to spend a lot of time camping at rivers and lakes in the summer.

More often than not, we spent at least one weekend braving the heat, sweat, bugs, and burnt food to camp in a remote park where we could jump in the river with innertubes and sufficiently bake ourselves to a crisp over the course of a two our float through snake infested waters. Can't get much more family friendly than that right? Well, if you knew my family, you'd know "family friendly" simply refers to any occasion where our relatives can gather on enough acreage to prevent physically killing each other.

Anyway, for the most part, our family gatherings managed to come and go without anyone being rushed to the emergency room due to accidental, or family-inflicted injuries. For the most part.

Keep in mind, during my childhood I had a huge family. It consisted of my 3 uncles, their wives, their seven children, their aunts, uncles, cousins, and cousins kids. Not to mention half a dozen half-elderly people, about a dozen ex-spouses and random friends and extended family. What I'm trying to say here is that we never just pulled up to a campsite and pitched a few tents. It was more like pulling a mile-long convoy into a campground and establishing a full-sized compound of campers, vehicles, tents and a beer wagon! And I don't mean a couple small coolers of beer. I mean the Budwieser truck just parked himself at our campsite for the weekend and sold the load.

When I say my family tends to drink a little, I mean family members are seen walking around with liqour I.V.'s. I mean, they'll jump out to save the sinking beer-cooler while screaming at the drowning child, "Hold your breath kid, there's a sandbar just around the corner!!"

That being said, it will come as no surprise to you that when you gather my family together for too long, you are likely to have a case of wavering judgement before the weekend is over.

On one particular occasion, we were on our usual tube-the-river and act like jack-asses trip. We loaded up two pickups and a microbus with innertubes, drunken adults and children and hauled our asses 2 miles down the road to throw them in a murky, muddy, tetnus-spawning river. The first few minutes are taken to tether a raft for the beer cooler because lord knows that we cannot spend two hours without beer. And everyone knows that dingy water, hidden barbed wire, and a dozen young children are best served with alcohol.

Once everyone is tossed into the water, the float begins. Looking back, I am fully convinced that this two-hour trip was just a ploy for the adults to get plastered and act like idiots while the children were safely (another loose term) contained in the river. It was like free baby sitting. I mean, where are the kids going to go? No child is going to race out of his parents site to brave the poison ivy infested river bank and run away. If the kids disappear out of site of the parents, it's a sure bet they'll reappear beached on a sandbar in 60 seconds. For anyone who has never ridden an innertube down a shallow river, let me explain that half of the trip is spent dragging an innertube over sandbars and the other half is spent soaking in the cool water exhausted from lugging a tube as big as you over the sandbars.

By the time we returned to the campsite, my Grandparents usually had something prepared to eat (Gee, how'd they do that? They only had two hours of free time!) and our parents were sufficiently drunk enough to deal with the fact that they were stuck in the middle of nowhere with their children, spouses and other relatives they don't particularily like.

I probably took this tubing trip about 500 times in my life and nothing ever varied from the above description. Sure, every now and then an aunt would grab a tree branch only to discover it was a snake. And every now and then someone would slice half of their toes off with a broken bottle. But other than that, it never got much more exciting.

But all things change. You see, the powers that be tendto get bored with the same old activities of human life and every now and then they feel a desperate need to throw out a loophole just to see how the drunken idiots will react. That occasion finally took place at our quiet little campsite.

We woke one morning to find the river was unusually high. By unusually high, I mean that the water that was previously knee deep, was now shin deep. Apparently it had rained upstream the night before, and we simply could not pass up the opportunity to tube the river without being stuck on sandbars. So my grandfather loaded up the pickups (and the bus) and drove us back to our usualy drop off spot. Our parents had the intellect at this point (it was early, they hadn't finished their first case of beer yet!) to tie the two younger children's tubes (myself and my cousin) together so that one of our parents could watch us. Since my cousin's mother was not present, that duty fell on the shoulder of my mother. That's right! Leave the two "babies" with the one adult who CANNOT SWIM!!

Needless to say, we severely under-estimated the amount of rain they had recieved upstream. When I say severely, I mean that water that was ankle deep the day before, and shin deep when we left camp, was WAIST DEEP when we arrived back at camp. I mean, we got back to camp at the same time my grandfather got the trucks back to camp!!! I mean, trees... whole FUCKING trees!!... floated down the river with us. You see where this is going right?

Needless to say, when my mother jumped off her tube (stark white with concern) at the point where my uncle was waiting for the children, she disappeared! I don't mean she was swept off by the current and waved at us as she floated down the river. I mean she FUCKING DISAPPEARED!! The water which was normally waist deep on her, was over her head now. She pushed along the bottom of the river with her feet (still completely submerged) to get my cousin to my Uncle. She then let go of me!!! Can you believe that? She FUCKING LET GO OF ME!! That's right... sent me floating down the river live a baby in a basket!! Why? Well, I told you she can't swim and frankly, she was drowning!!

So my mother & me floated on down stream to where a sandbar should... emphasis on SHOULD... have been. There, my other Uncle scooped me up and removed me from the river. I imagine he left my mother to drown (just knowing him) but it was all good because the sandbar was not completely gone. It was just under 3 feet of water, so Mom was able to get her feet under her and drag her ass out of the river looking very much like a half drowned rat.

Other relatives had to be rescued around the next bend in the river where the bridge was. We might have lost a few that day. There were always so many of us it was hard to keep track. Come to think of it, I'm not sure I ever saw my Uncle Festus again! DAMN!! Guess he's probably shacked up somewhere down south.

Now anyone who is a parent can imagine what a terrifying moment this was for our family. They could have lost their babies in that river. Of course, terror has no lasting effects on the logic of my family. After a quick breakfast (and a few more beers) all of the adults decided to take the trip again! I know, it's amazing we all lived this long! Thankfully, at that particular moment, the radar went off in some of the elderly and the young children were ordered to stay at camp. Basically they told their children it was okay if they killed themselves in the damn river, but the grandbabies were going to live long enough to suffer further torture from the family!

That's right, my family is a permenant poster child for "HERE'S YOUR SIGN!!"
Be Jealous!!

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Wedding Invitations

Some of my friends are having some family troubles. I don't have family troubles because... well... part of being a Real Life Fairy Tale Princess means that you get to kick the asshole family members to the "servent's quarters" or put them to work in sweat shops. As a Real Life Fairy Tale Princess, I pretty much picked out those that I liked and asked my editor to remove the others from the storyline.

That being said, I got to thinking about all the chaos and mayhem that will ensue when Prince Charming and I decide to tie the knot. I bet you thought I was making the big announcement... not hardly! So you can stop digging out the caledar trying to come up with an excuse for why you can't attend.

What I really wanted to tell you is that this morning, while surfing a website, I discovered the invitation which will be going out to my family members when the time comes.

I mean, it would be totally wrong of me to completely refuse to send invitations to some of the genetic misfits in my heritage. However, I think I've made it very clear that they are not welcome in my life due to their political affilations.

Therefore, in all the class and style of a Real Life Fairy Tale Princess, they will be recieving the following invitations.

Okay, now please pick yourself up off the floor. You know that there is some funny shit! Unfortunately, I doubt the recipients get as much of a kick out of it as I will. Too bad for them!

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Friday, July 25, 2008

I Blame My Hormonal Imbalance

As much as I love the new design of my site... everytime I look at my picture today, I want to gag.

Maybe it's the girly-smirly glitter and sparkle that is totally clashing with my mood, or perhaps it's the pepto-bismo pink that isn't agreeing with my emotionallyunstable stomach. Or maybe, and this is my logical guess (thought that's sort of a paradox since no woman thinks in a sane and logical mannar at this time of the month) it is the fact that the pictures I had available last night are a little over a year old. And every time I look at them, I miss my hair.

That's right, because I had this intellectual brain-fart to chop off my hair right before my daughter was born. Why? Because who wants to deal with up-dos and baby barf in their hair? NOT I SAID THE 9 MONTH PREGNANT HIPPO!!

Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't change things if I had them to do over again. I was blessed with an Ogre-Child who insisted on regurgitating everything she ate for the first 5 months of life. There is no doubt in my mind that cutting my hair off prevented several bouts of angry cursing as I washed my lovely locks for the fifteenth time that day.

The problem is that I only find two lengths of hair acceptable on my head.

The first is the length you see in the photos. Just long enough to stuff up into hair clips but not so long that it takes 2 hours to wrestle into something managable.

The second is a 1/2 inch long buzz cut with bangs long enough to sweep behind my ear. While some might laugh at seeing this cut on a nearly (and I emphasize 'nearly') 30-year-old mother, I do not care what they think. What I do care is that the cut takes about 5 years off my age, gets my hair off my neck, is easy to manage, and still leaves enough room for some creativity.

Unfortunately, these two hairstyles are NOT compatible with each other. While it takes only 15 minutes to go from the long cut to the short one, it takes about 6 months for me to hate the short cut and another 18 months to grow it back to the length I want it. While I do not so much mind the waiting as I can see a means to an end, I DESPISE the fact that there is not a flattering length between the two.

Let me clarify. When I say 'not a flattering length' I mean that for 18 months my hair looks likeI just crawled through a barb-wire fence surrounding a 3rd world mental institution. My hair goes through stages during this 18-month hair-nightmare.

Stage 1: The Chia Pet - At this point my hair has grown out just enough to be annoying. It has lost it's neat 'buzzed' appearance, and is now sticking straight up in a fashion that makes me debate whether to grow it out or go have it cut back off.

Stage 2: The Caucasian Afro - This is actually just a more extreme version of the Chia Pet. By now I have made the decession to grow my hair out. Unfortunately, the hairs have yet to relearn the concept of laying flat against the scalp and therefore they now stick straight up out of my head in a style that any African American would either envy of laugh at.

Stage 3: The Punk Rocker - This style is almost tolerable. Being a child of the 80's I can semi-tolerate this look as long as I can wear my grunge t-shirts and torn up jeans. Unfortunately, it does not mesh well with my choice of occupation.

Stage 4: The Half Mullet - By now, my hair has grown out long enough to cover my neck. Unfortunately, that only applies to the hair at the neckline. The rest of my hair is layered in a shag fashion on my head. This hairdo can only be rectified by covering it with bandanas or using elastic headbands to revert to something closer to "The Punk Rocker"

Stage 5: The Bob - While my mother finds this cut absolutely adorable on me, the sheer fact that I have 20 times more hair than the average chimpanzee causes a normal bob to stick out from my face approximately 18 inches. Thus turning the 'easy to manage' Bob into an everyday swear-session in order to corral the uncooperative tresses.

Stage 6: The Why The Fuck Am I Growing This Shit Out? - By far one of my least favorite styles. At this point, the hair is almost acceptable. Unfortunately, by almost, I mean that it falls about 1/4 inch of perfect. Meaning that it will not stay up in any form of hair restraining impliment. This means that I must either fill my head with enough metal to pick up local satalite recievers, or let the hair hang where I don't want it.

And finally...

Stage 7: The Long Hair That I Never Wear Long - Refer to pictures on this site. While it may appear that my long hair has been allowed to freely haing, only a handful of strands have actually been granted that liberty. The remaining hairs are contained with hair impliments at all times. The reason for this is that I CANNOT do anything else with them. My hair refuses curls, rejects hair spray, frizzes at the first sign of moisture or heat, and otherwise falls out of any acceptable hairdo. Thus making me wonder after about 6 months, why I don't just buzz it all off and be done with it!!

I think next time I'll just dye it some freaky color when I get bored. I'll have to ask the boss what she'd think if I showed up to work with pink hair!!

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Disney Oversite #1

I don't care how pretty she is, how much makeup they put on her, or how great her compassion and personality are - no fairy tale princess is immune to the effects of Mother Nature on the female body. Disney fails to show you what Princess Belle looks like the first day of the month when her legs ache, her back feels like someone's trying to rip her spine out and there's still an Ogre-Child to feed, dress, bathe, and otherwise tend to.

So currently, Prince Charming is cowering in the corner while the Ogre-Child shoves crayons up her nose because The Real Life Fairy Tale Princess is cursing the Wicked Sorceress who made her born a female. Two Super-Potion Tylenol from now, I might gather enough ambition to brush my teeth.

In the mean time, I'm going to wallow in my own self-pity. Tonight, the Ogre-Child can probably do anything she wants. As long as she doesn't try to drown herself in the toilet bowl, I probably won't jump up to stop her.

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Fairy Tale Rule #2

Duct tape may be used as a sleep aide.

Let me explain that the Ogre-Child has yet to learn the concept of sleeping PARALLEL to her parents. We have a King Size bed and most nights you will find that our sleeptime is brought to you by the letter "H". More often that not, you will find the Ogre-Chld passed out with her head jammed in Prince Charming's kidneys and her toes wedged somewhere between my liver and gall bladder. Needless to say that most nights I pray for five minutes of sleep in which the Ogre-Child is not trying to wiggle her way between my ribs or sleeping on my head.

However, last night I realized that in order for the Ogre-Child to sleep soundly, she must have at least one-square-inch of her flesh attached to mine. Unfortunately, in her unconscious state last night, she refused to remain close enough to me to maintain the proper sleep-required contact. Thus, she continued to wake in terror over and over again.

Luckily, The Real Life Fairy Tale Princess is very resourceful. At 6:30 this morning, the solution dawned on me. I went to the utility closet and got a roll of duct tape. I then returned to the bed and duct taped the Ogre-Child's foot to my back.

I will admit that there was a slight discomfort at first as she kicked and resisted the new material that restrained her to my body. However, after a few moments, the repetative kick felt very much like a rare Japanese back massage and I began to drift off to Dreamland quite pleased with my inovativeness. A few minutes later, the Ogre-Child wore herself out and slept through the morning soundly.

Of course there is one side effect to this method of sleep aide. At 6 in the morning, the thought never crossed my mind that I would have to remove the tape from the tender regions of my back while still in the grogy stupor of pre-coffee, pre-cigarette, pre-awareness!


But aside from the stinging, flame-red spot on my back it is a good morning.

Plus I get a good morning laugh watching the Ogre-Child wrestle in irritation with the piece of tape I left on her foot!!

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My Aching Head!

"Why," you ask yourself, "is The Real Life Fairy Tale Princess still awake at 6 AM? I thought she went to bed over an hour ago!"

Well, I did! Which leaves the undying question of why I am now wide the FUCK awake and why the hell my head feels like a bowling ball slammed into it.

Thankfully, I have remained fully conscious and can answer these pressing questions for you!!

You see, the Ogre-Child, who can sleep on a 24-inch-wide couch for hours without moving enough to fall off, apparently CANNOT sleep on a KING SIZE BED! You see, I took the Demon Spawn of Hades to bed with me a while ago. I tucked her in (I should clarify... 'untucked her in' as she does not approve of havingblankets touching her body while she sleeps) and kissed her sweet sleeping face. I then lay down beside her on the bed.

As usual, it takes me about 15 minutes to get comfortable in the bed and another 10 minutes or so to actually doze off.

Jut as the traces of Dreamland are starting to wisp behind my eyelids, the Ogre-Child (in her sleep) squirms herself far enough across the bed to realize that Prince Charming is not there. Suddenly, awake and lost in the darkness she cries! Yanking me horrifically back from Dreamland like a choke chain. I grab the Ogre-Child, move her back to the middle of the bed, kiss her sweet face and begin the process of finding my way back to Dreamland. Fifteen minutes later, I am awakened by the same, horrified cry of a lost Ogre-Child. Again, I repeat the process and try to drift off to sleep.

This scenerio repeats a half a dozen times. When finally, as I'm laying back down on the 2-inches of mattress the Ogre-Child permits me to occupy...


My head makes solid contact with the corner of my nightstand!

I am now crying... the Ogre-Child is crying because all she knows is that somewhere in the pitch dark of our room, I am crying. After a few seconds, the pain subsides enough to comfort the Ogre-Child. Unfortunately, by now, I am fully aware of my surroundings and all I can think about is that I could really use a cigarette.

So I abandon the Ogre-Child on the bed and retreat to the computer for one last smoke.

Halfway through my cigarette, the child appears in the livingroom, weepy and tired. What did she do? Crawled up on the 24-inch couch and went to sleep.

So now, I'm going to try this process ONE LAST TIME!!

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Just Another Day

As the hours have quickly slipped by, The Real Life Fairy Tale Princess finds herself still awake at 4:30 AM. The Ogre-Child has already been passed out in the realms of Dreamland for 3 hours.

At last, the kitchen imps are tucked in for the night in their appropriate nests. The laundry gnomes have all been contained in their cage. The toys are securely locked in the Ogre-Child's room and the wild Carpet Crumbs have been tamed.

The excitement of this Fairy Tale day has wound slowly to an end, and the Real Life Fairy Tale Princess is going to curl up atop her mattress with a pea under it and catch some much needed beauty sleep. No doubt, tomorrow she will wake with all the finess of a bridge troll, but some sleep is better than none. Perhaps the Ogre-Child will slip into one of her rare semi-coma's and sleep an extra couple hours for the sake of her mother.

Good Night Fairy Tale Land - Sleep Tight


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Fairy Tale Rule #1

A Real Life Fairy Tale Mom will sacrafice sleep for 1 hour of time to herself.

That's right, while I fantasize of some magic spell that will allow me to sleep for a hundred years, alas, there are no wicked fairies in the life of a real fairy tale princess (unless you count the mother-in-law, but I doubt she has the ambition to brew up a quality spell).

So of my own free will, here I sit at 2:30 am, while my sleeping child is sawing logs on the couch beside me.

Why am I still awake at this hour? Because the Seven Dwarves are whistling a tun in my head and in reality, I AM Cinderella and I've recently vowed that I will NOT go to sleep until the house is cleaned every night. Why? Because it's wonderful waking up to an already clean house. Unfortunatey, I have not found the right potion in my cupboard of caffiene that will inspire me to do the dishes in the sink.

So here I am, glued to this screen, relishing every moment of quiet solitude that my pores can suck in. Unfortunately, I think that weeds and vines are starting to crawl up the legs of my chair and if I don't get off my butt soon, I may be trapped here forever.

While there are those who would love to see me online every minute for the rest of my life, I'm afraid that being bound to this chair for eternity will only inspire mindless ramblings of nothingness. Not to mention and incredible stench from this portion of the house.

While I have relished these priceless moments, I do think it's time to give up this fantasy. Otherwise, the ogre-child will wake at the ass-crack of dawn and I will find myself trying to pry toothpicks into my blood-shot eyes so I can keep them open far enough to stop her from eating the toilet brush!

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The Ogre-Child


Don't let her looks decieve you. She has ogre-blood in those veins. It's the only explanation I have for how wicked she can be!
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Glitter Words

Anyone who's read the REAL fairy tales... you know, the one's the Grimm Brother's wrote... you know that Disney has put a real rose colored spin on life. In reality, Rapunzel's prince has his eyes gouged out by thorns, Cinderella's step-sisters are blinded by crows, the wolf eats Little Red Riding Hood, Rumpelstiltskin tore his body in two, and Snow White's evil step-mother is forced to dance in heated iron shoes until she drops dead. Fairy tale or not, I believe these Grimm tales far more than Disney's "happily ever after".

You see, it's not easy being a fairy princess!! This house is occupied by Beauty & the Beast. On any given day, it's a crap-shoot on who is Beauty and who is the Beast. While we're all a bunch of Sleeping Beauties, you nver know who will wake up with dragon breath. Some days, I'd give my first born child to Rumpelstiltskin in a heartbeat. At times, I feel like Cinderella, cleaning up after her two unappreciative step-sisters. Other days, our home is a castle and I can't think of anything I love more.

So this is the saga of a Real Life Fairy Tale Princess!!

Some days it'll be Grimm, and other days you'll think I've written the next Disney classic! And just for good measure, I'll throw in a splash of National Lampoon's because on thing is certain:
For better or worse, there is NEVER a dull moment in this fairy tale life!

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Once Upon a Time

Once Upon a Time . . .
. . . in a blog far away, I had a prospering little fan base. Unfortunately, time passes and I gave birth to an Ogre-child and life became too much to find the time to please the masses.

Along the way, I had my editors take certain characters out of the story line. Frankly, their fat and lazy and I'll never get this turned into a Lifetime movie with them in the plot.

So I have packed up my castle and moved it to this new land where Trolls and Imps may not follow. Unfortunately, I did find a troll hiding in the dungeon. But what the hell, I guess she can stay!!

So this is my new saga, my new blog life, my new haven away from the monsters in the closet! DAMNIT!! Who forgot to chain the closet door shut this time? Were you born in the stable?

I hope you enjoy my new found life as a Real Life Fairy Tale Princess.

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Tuesday, July 1, 2008

About Me

The Real Life Fairy Tale Princess is a 28-year-old insomniac, working mother who is happily spoken for by Prince Charming.

She adores her Ogre-Child, despite anything she might whisper while the child drifts off into Dreamland.

She has a Wicked Mother-In-Law, a Fairy God-Mother, and she lives in a castle full of crazy Pixies!

Her castle is surronded by a moat where the Loch-Ness Monster lives and is also guarded by a ferocious fire breathing Dragon that eats trespassers trying to steal her Golden Goose.

She enjoys the company of her online forum and blog friends.

When she's not working or online, The Real Life Fairy Tale Princess spends her time wrestling laundry gnomes, tackling kitchen imps, corraling escaped todder toys and rescuing various items from the death clutch of the Ogre-Child while trying to decipher the strange half-Ogre garble that spews from the childs mouth between screams.

Her secret passion is putting on pretty clothes and getting dressed up for no reason at all. She usually tires of this passion before she has a chance to leave the castle. When leaving her castle, she often parades as a mere peasant to prevent the camera flashes and adoring mobs that so often hoard around Fairy Tale Princesses.

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