Being called a princess is not normally an overly complementary thing to say. It insinuates that you are spoiled and excessively pampered. Although I believe nothing could be further from the truth, the name has stuck amongst a group of particular friends of mine.
Last month I celebrated a birthday here in Austria. During a meeting at work I was surprised with a cake and card. On the envelope it read to the “marketing princess.”
And now in the middle of Fasching season I found myself reluctantly agreeing to participate in a parade and party. Already far out of my comfort zone, I was only mildly surprised when a text soon followed informing me that I was a to dress as a “princess” for the party.
I don’t know about you, but I am sensing a theme here.
So I decided to embrace this whole princess thing. I went out and got the darn princess ensemble – complete with a tiara. It was the least princessy costume of all the princess costumes I could find. But still pretty darn girlie for me. As I look at myself in the mirror I cant help but laugh. My tiara looks so wrong I don’t think I can even wear it. The princes dress makes me look more like - well I have no clue really. Kind of like I should be carrying a bunch of beer steins instead.
Somehow that seems fitting. The one and only time I try to be princess–like, I end up in a velvet Dirndl instead.