After lighting the pumpkins in anticipation of Trick-or-Treaters, I hurried to my closet for something Halloweeny to wear. Looking through scarves and costume jewelry, I uncovered nothing.
Then I spied a silvery crown, one with pink feathers, tucked on top of my necklace rack.
I bought the Dollar Tree crown a few years ago as bling for the Disney Princess Half Marathon. After the race, I placed it in my closet and it stayed there till Halloween night.
Adjusting the combs just so in my hair, I donned sparkly diamonds, earrings from Target.
And so came the fairies, Super Marios, ghouls, pumpkins and bumble bees. I sat on the steps with a big bowl of candy and as the children approached, magically we were eye-to-eye.
Up came a large group of young girls. There were witches and princesses and many witch princesses.
“Who are you?” asked a young girl dressed all in black, another generic witch princess.
She stood in front of me with a black wand poised at her lips. Her eyes glanced at my forehead. Her mouth squished into a line of discernment, concentrating on my face as her friends feverishly grabbed Kit Kats and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
Who was I? Wife, mom, a little weary if honest — doing my thing day in and day out, trying to have a little fun handing out candy
Lifting her wand, she tapped me on the head, “A Flamingo Princess.”
Most satisfied with her pronouncement, she snatched a pack of Skittles and turned to join her friends.
With her proclamation, not unlike Samuel’s anointing of the young shepherd David, some switch deep down inside me flipped.
The Flamingo Princess. That’s who I’ve been all along, I just didn’t know.
The rest of the evening I carried myself a little bit taller. Knelt down just a bit lower to speak to the smallest of Captain America’s.
Not quite The People’s Princess, The Flamingo’s Princess does come with responsibility.
I need to find my flock. The flamingos at Zoo Atlanta are tucked just inside the front entrance. I don’t even have to buy a ticket, I can just stand at the fence in my crown and call to them.
Communication might be a problem. As well as the fact that they are birds and have no earthy idea what a princess could do for them. On second thought, I’m not sure what I could do for them except represent them like I’d imagine they’d like to be represented if they weren’t flamingos and knew what a Flamingo Princess could do for them.
There you have the Flamingo Princess. Just as Disney would draw a sleep-deprived menopausal Flamingo Princess.
Maybe not Disney. Most women of a certain age in Disney stories are Wicked Queens, Evil Stepmothers or Stealer of puppies.
The Flamingo Princess deserves more.
Where’s Hanna-Barbera when you need animating?