Sunday, July 27, 2008


The Princess of Shortness took her index finger and absently rubbed the spot where the ocean had picked off a corner of her big toe nail. This Princess (of Shortness) is not a real Princess, but for the purpose of this story she is as much a real Princess as any Sara or Ann, or (of) Tallness. For all heroines should be Princesses shouldn't they? Just as all her suitors ought to be Prince Charmings, be they flowers, tigers or tube socks. But back to the toe.

She could not recall the moment that the ocean had taken it's talisman from her. It had not hurt. In fact she had only noticed here in the tub (our Princess is having a bath - but not a typical bath for her. Tonight the water is barely warm and usually she only soaks in freshly boiled tea - minus the bag.) and she is neither amused or vexed. Point of fact, she is actually barely aware of the jagged edge, having her royal mind drifting like the foam on top of the waves.

She ran the bath to wash the salt and dried slick off of her legs and scalp. The lukewarm water did its job. As the Princess lounged with her book (that she is reading, not writing) she found herself at odds with the water. Or maybe it was the tub. She would lie on her back and then roll first to one side, then the other. Hip or elbow poking out of the bubbles. For a time she wedged one foot between the knobs that read HOT and COLD, while the other lay from knee to ankle on the rim of the porcelain. Like a goldfish in a bowl that is too small, she thought. My feet are my fins, flopped out in the air, testing it. Maybe it is more comfortable than the water? And I am uncomfortable. (Princesses do not like being uncomfortable. They are unaccustomed to it.) It did not work. For a short time (made all the shorter by the fact that she is the Princess of Shortness) she read and forgot about her fins, but after 5 words she was back to readjusting them.

Finally she gave up (or in, depending on your perspective) and pulled the plug on all that warmish water. Which is when she discovered the missing piece of toe nail. She could not muster even so much as a, drat, in response. As the bubbleless water swirled away she used a yellow plastic cup to pour fresh water on her head. (This water too, was only warm.) Is this my grown up rubber ducky? Whatever sound the water may have made as it wound down her hair was lost to the ruckus of the faucet. How is it that in movies, bubble baths always look so glorious? Fluffy. Like a vats of meringue. Is there some secret bubble solution for movies only, because it is made of a terrible chemical that eats off one's skin? So the movie stars are first covered completely in super strength vasoline (which we cannot see since they are of course, in the bath)? This industrial level bubble bath must be made in the same lab as the necular bomb, for it is just as effective. Only not at world domination. Unless you believe Hollywood is the next Super Power. Which it may in fact be.

All of this is what casued the Princess to forget about her toe and let her mind wander like Jesus on the waves.

No comments: