I Want To Run Away From Princess Education

Okay, so picture this: you're me, right? Except, instead of doom-scrolling through cat videos, you're stuck learning the *proper* way to curtsy. Yeah, you guessed it, I'm taking princess lessons. And let me tell you, it's less 'Cinderella' and more 'Cinderella's evil stepsisters on a caffeine binge'.

I know, I know. It sounds glamorous. Tea parties with tiny sandwiches, shimmering gowns, and the chance to marry a ridiculously handsome prince. But the reality? It's basically etiquette boot camp. They're teaching us stuff I’m convinced hasn’t been relevant since the invention of the printing press. We had a whole module on how to eat soup silently. Silently! I didn't even know that was a skill people still needed.

And the dresses! Don't even get me started. They're beautiful, sure, but try navigating a crowded room in a gown that weighs more than you do. It's like trying to herd a flock of particularly uncooperative pigeons while wearing a parachute. Elegant? Hardly.

The Dreaded Deportment Drills

Then there are the deportment drills. Deportment, for those of you lucky enough to have avoided this archaic term, basically means how you carry yourself. And apparently, I'm carrying myself all wrong. My posture is, and I quote, "reminiscent of a wilting daisy." A wilting daisy! I didn’t even know I could be compared to a flower that was also failing.

They make us walk around with books balanced on our heads. It’s supposed to teach us poise. It teaches me that I really, really hate heavy books. And that my head is surprisingly bumpy. I’m starting to think I might have secret royal lineage with a species of particularly clumsy flamingo. I'm picturing myself tripping at my coronation, sending the crown tumbling into the punch bowl.

The Art of Polite Conversation (aka Lying Gracefully)

Oh, and the conversation lessons! We're learning how to make small talk with dignitaries without saying anything remotely interesting. We practice things like: "The weather has certainly been…weather-like!" and "Your brooch is…quite…brooch-y!" The instructors actually encourage us to avoid topics like politics, religion, and anything remotely controversial. Basically, we're being trained to be exquisitely boring conversational robots.

Did you know that in some royal circles, there's an actual protocol for how many times you can use someone's name in a conversation? Apparently, overusing their name makes you seem…eager. And underusing it makes you seem…disrespectful. It's a minefield, I tell you, a minefield!

The Rebellion Begins (or at Least, the Daydreaming)

So, naturally, I'm plotting my escape. I’m envisioning a daring midnight getaway. Maybe I'll join the circus. I can juggle! (Sort of. Mostly I just drop things.) Or maybe become a competitive eater. Imagine the headlines: "Princess Dethrones Hot Dog Eating Champion!"

The truth is, I’m not sure what I’d actually do. Maybe open a cat café. That sounds infinitely more appealing than learning the proper way to address a duke. And frankly, the cats would probably judge my posture less harshly.

But seriously, the sheer amount of rules and restrictions makes my head spin. We're not even allowed to have visible tattoos! Which is a bummer because I was planning on getting a tiny crown tattooed on my ankle. You know, for irony.

The Unexpected Upsides (Yes, There Are a Few)

Okay, okay, it's not *all* bad. There are a few perks. The food, for instance, is amazing. I've learned more about gourmet cheeses in the last month than I have in my entire life. And the gowns, while heavy, are admittedly stunning. I feel like a human disco ball when I twirl in them.

And, I have to admit, there’s a certain charm to learning about history and culture. Did you know that Queen Elizabeth I apparently used to swear like a sailor? Okay, maybe they *didn't* teach us that. I might have read it in a slightly less-than-royal biography while hiding in the library. But still! It’s fascinating! History is full of rebellious princesses!

The Quest for Sanity Continues

So, here I am, still attending princess lessons, still dreaming of freedom. Maybe I'll never escape the royal life. Maybe I'll actually learn to love curtsying and sipping tea with my pinky out. But one thing's for sure: I'll never stop questioning the point of it all. And who knows? Maybe one day, I'll be the princess who redefines what it means to be royal. The princess who wears jeans under her gown, eats pizza with her hands, and says exactly what's on her mind. Now *that's* a princess I'd want to be.

Until then, wish me luck. I’m off to learn how to properly hold a fan. I suspect it will involve more wilting daisy comparisons.