The “f” word sprayed the bedroom in machine gun bursts, short and controlled as Elana caught sight of the newspaper. She glimpsed what lay, one more time, on page one. Fat, fat, fat! She hated the “f” word. Her obsessive/compulsive mind game forced the words to run across the ruts and creases of her brain. More fat, most fattest, maybe the most fat photo. The fattest photo. Her best fat photo. On and on the phrases ran, screaming in silence.
Her grand humiliation, recycled for fun by mean editors, could lurk on any page on any day. Today it was on page one. Must be a slow news day. HRH Elana preferred gouging her eyes out with a hot stick to looking at her picture over breakfast with the rest of the kingdom. The urge to smash some thing expensive lurked. Elana lifted the porcelain tea cup up and scalded her mouth instead. She rewrote the book on royal appearances. She should have torched it. Then everyone could enjoy breakfast.
Wanting to bloodhound bay at the day unrolling in the misty, gauze lensed fairyland stupid adults and charming little girls believed royalty lived, a groan heaved out with her effort to go vertical.
She had to pull herself up by the velvet curtains that adorned the canopy, decorated with embroidery of strips of pommes de terre. She cursed irately--the other "f" word this time--when she remembered the matchmaker who got her into this wretched arrangement. How could she have ever thought that felicity was to be achieved by marrying the Burger King?
Opening: Bibi.....Continuation: Nicolette