How I Know I'm Not a Disney Princess

In this world of confusion and disagreement, I would like to present you with something upon which we can all agree: I am not a Disney princess. Hopefully this won't shock too many of you, but I'm not. Just in case you still doubt me in my statement of fact, I have compiled a list of some of the ways I know I'm not a Disney princess. This could have been an infinite list. (By this I simply mean that there are a lot of ways in which I differ from Disney princesses. Logistically, it couldn't actually be an infinite list because someday--before I run out of reasons--I will die. This is an event that would probably be hastened if I were to devote my future to maintaining an infinite [and pointless] list.)

When I was very young--say, under the age of four--I wanted to be a Disney princess, and even sometimes thought that I was. As a result, I did things like stop to count to make sure that the Seven Dwarfs were still following me. There was also an incident in which I told my grandma to hurry to the door because someone was there. After my grandma, who had been in the middle of applying lotion to her feet, hobbled to the door (on the sides of her feet in order to avoid getting lotion on her carpet) to find the porch vacant, she asked who was there. My answer? "It was Princess Aurora, but she's gone now." I no longer believe myself to be a Disney princess, but just in case any of you were wondering, here is proof that I am not.

Reason Number One That I Am Not a Disney Princess:
A Disney princess would never lie to her grandmother about Princess Aurora being at the door.

2. My sixteenth birthday passed without incidence. No spinning wheel. No betrothal. Not even a date. I remember reading the story of Sleeping Beauty to my little brothers and sisters at the aforementioned age of sixteen and being somewhat disgusted by the expectation that anyone, royal or no, would be expected to be married at 16. I was also perturbed by Aurora/Briar Rose/Sleeping Beauty's clear complexion at what should have been the height of hormonal eruptions--at least, according to my own experience--which brings us to my next point.

3. Disney princesses don't have acne. I mean, while others in the world are waiting for more ethnically diverse princesses, I'm here waiting for a princess of any color or nationality who possesses the age-appropriate facial blemishes typical of teen years/early adulthood. (Sorry teenagers, somebody has got to tell you the truth: those spots aren't going to magically disappear on your eighteenth birthday. Maybe not even your twenty-first. Disney--and everyone else--lies. My apologies, but this is the cold, hard reality that you will soon be facing.) The best representation I've gotten so far is this guy from Tangled who sings, "I have scars and lumps and bruises--and something here that oozes. And let's not even mention my complexion!" (He also has a goiter and an extra toe.) Don't worry, though, he finds his love connection in the end, so it's fine.

4. I'm not exactly chipper and perky. Sometimes I even yell. Not the "This is the best day ever!" or "Leave him alone (I'm defending justice)!" kind of yell, but the "Stupid! Adult acne! I HATE . . . ! (Grumble, Grumble)!" kind of yell. When I was in the "I wanna be a princess" phase of my life, my mother told me that princesses don't shriek while their hair is being brushed. Try as I might to softly whisper "Ow!" as my hair was pulled, I remained unsuccessful in my attempts at royal behavior. That might have been when my application for princess status was originally declined.

5. I don't rescue and allow mice to clean my house or make me dresses while they sing. (Nor do I rescue and allow mice to clean my house or make me dresses while they don't sing. Animal servitude: just another thing for PETA to get worked up about.) In fact, I go out of my way to kill and remove mice that enter my house. And by that I mean, I have my charming husband do it because I don't like to be within singing distance of the little critters. (Some of you will remember my last year's run-in with a mouse in my house.)  It's always nice to make new friends?! Not if they have furry-scurry feet and the potential to carry hantavirus, it's not!

6. I guess the most compelling argument that I'm not a Disney princess is that I'm a real person. I'm not animated and living in a fictional world where the best options one has for friendship include chipmunks and an enchanted tea set. I suppose, though, if we consider Pocahontas (who I was quite convinced was named Hocahontas with an "H," for some reason. Probably the same reason I thought that "Ballyball" was a sport: an early affinity for alliteration.) to be a Disney princess, she was a real person. She just wasn't the same real person as she was animated to be. Maybe I could be a Disney princess; Disney would just have to take a lot of liberty and exercise a lot of artistic license in telling my story.

Now that I consider it, not all Disney princesses befriend rodents. At least a few have been known to throw temper tantrums. And with the additions of Merida and Elsa, not even all of the princesses had beaus by their sixteenth birthdays--or even the end of their respective films. When I'm downright honest, I'm not familiar enough with any of the Disney princesses to say that there isn't one who wouldn't lie to her grandmother about Sleeping Beauty's presence at the door. Apparently the only thing standing between myself and Disney-fied Princessitude is a few blemishes. And really, what is artistic license for, if not the removal of pimples?

It would seem, that as in so many instances of examining the "facts," I am just as lost and confused as I was when I began. Is there nothing in this world of which we can be sure? We--the possibly royal "we," not the Gollum "we"--are not amused with this prospect. After all, Descartes postulated that we can't be certain of anything--except the whole "I think, therefore I am" bit. But I don't think his theories--or those of any other philosophers, for that matter--included quotes to the effect of "I think, therefore I am NOT a Disney princess." Could Descartes be a . . . Oh, don't be ridiculous!

What sort of skeptic's attitude is that, anyway? Of course there are absolute truths in this world of which we can be certain! For example, I am absolutely SURE that, at least in my head, Pocahontas' name is spelled with a "P," there is a sport called volleyball, and that in spite of these things, I still like alliteration. And you know, if I AM a Disney princess, I am the uniquely unorthodox underdog of the upper class.