"I present you with this crown." So said Risa early this morning while I sipped my Diet Pepsi, tried to shake off my sleepies (what a night, my people, what a night), and sent e-mail to the ones I love.
It was placed in the center of a basket that she had meticulously lined with her vast collection of plastic barrettes (birds, dragonflies, bears, like that). It's her best crown, a delicate silver and pearl number that my brother gave to her on her last birthday. "Thanks, Ri," I said. I slipped it onto my head and promptly forgot it was there. She twirled out of the kitchen and back to Sesame Street.
I mention this because just now I walked past a mirror, caught sight of myself and had to smile. Maybe it was the crown (maybe not), but I coulda sworn I was glowing (the preening Chatelaine, who reigns in Galatea, no doubt understands).
So, look out. I'm Queen for a Day.
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