When Q was three, we were at some sort of play group and a little girl swept up to him, adorned in a ratty, too-big costume dress and said “Oooooo! Goody! You can be my PRINCE!” I have a feeling this left a deep scar on his brain, because he turned around with huge eyes, pulled his hands away from the girl and slunk over to me. “Mommy. That girl wants me to PINCH her……. And I don’t want to.”
Now, we have our own little lady fascinated with Elsa, Anna, Cinderella and Kate (Middleton, of course.) She routinely puts on “The Elsa Show” which involves her doing several donkey kicks and putting gloves on and off for the duration of the Frozen score.
A few days ago, I put their cardboard “clubhouse” back up (in exchange for them cleaning the living room first.) My daughter immediately ran off and dressed herself in all her finery in preparation for living in “the castle.” For a bit, they both played in and out of the house and then, of course, an argument broke out. I perked up to hear her demand of her brother, “But you need to be the prince. You NEED to! Every princess has a prince!”
He said “No. I’m not going to be a prince. A princess can do whatever she wants and not every one needs a prince……….What you NEED…. is a LEAELLYNASAUR! Rrrwarrerarrarrr!”
She brightened and said, “Yeah! Will you be my Lily-saur?”
“No. Leaellynosaur are not tame beasts. But, I like you, so you can leave snacks out for me in your garden and I won’t bite you.”
Ah. What a prince.