"If I was a princess," she murmured, "I could scatter largess to the populace. But even if I am only a pretend princess, I can invent little things to do for people. I'll pretend that to do things for people is scattering largess."
a little princess
Frances Hodgson Burnett
Thursday, January 1, Midnight,
Royal Genovian bedchamber
My New Year's Resolutions
by Princess Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo,
age 14 years and 8 months
I will stop biting my fingernails, including the fake ones.
I will stop lying. Grandmè re knows when I am lying anyway, thanks to my traitorous nostrils, which flare every time I tell a fib, so it's not like there is even a point in trying to be less than truthful.
I will never veer from prepared script while
delivering televised address to the Genovian public.
I will stop accidentally saying mè rde in front of the ladies-in-waiting.
I will stop asking Franç ois, my Genovian
bodyguard, to teach me French swear words.
I will apologize to the Genovian Olive Growers Association for that thing with the pits.
I will apologize to the Royal Chef for slipping Grandmè re's dog that slice of foie gras (even though I have told the palace kitchen repeatedly that I do not eat liver).
I will stop lecturing the Royal Genovian Press Corps on the evils of smoking. If they all wish to develop lung cancer, that is their prerogative.
I will achieve self-actualization.
I will stop thinking so much about Michael Moscovitz.
Oh, wait. It's okay for me to think about Michael Moscovitz, BECAUSE HE IS MY BOYFRIEND NOW!!!!!!!!
MT + MM = TRUE LOVE 4-EVER
Friday,January 2, 2 p.m.,
Royal Genovian Parliament
You know, I am supposed to be on vacation. Seriously. I mean, this is my winter break. I am supposed to be having fun, mentally recharging for the coming semester, which is not going to be easy, as I will be moving on to Algebra II, not to mention Health and Safety class. Everybody at school was all, Oh, you are so lucky, you get to spend Christmas in a castle being waited on hand and foot.
Well, first of all, there is nothing so great about living in a castle. Because guess what? Castles are totally old. And yeah, it's not like this one was built in 4 a.d., or whenever it was my ancestress Princess Rosagunde first became ruler of Genovia. But it was still built in, like, the 1600s, and let me tell you what they didn't have in the 1600s:
Which is not to say there isn't a satellite dish now, but, hello, this is my dad's place; the only channels he has got programmed are, like, CNN, CNN Financial News, and the golf channel. Where is MTV 2, I ask you? Where is the Lifetime Movie Channel for Women?
Not that it matters because I am spending all my time being run off my feet. It isn't as if I ever even get a free moment to pick up a remote and go, "Ho hum, I wonder if there's a Tracey Gold movie on."
Oh, yeah, and the toilets? Let me just tell you that back in the 1600s, they didn't know so much about sewage. So now, four hundred years later, if you put one square too much toilet paper in the bowl and try to flush, you create a mini indoor tsunami.
So that's it. That is my life in Genovia.
Every other kid I know is spending his or her winter break in Aspen skiing, or in Miami gettingtanned.
But me? What am "I doing for my winter break?
Well, here are the highlights from the new datebook Grandmè re gave me for Christmas (what girl wouldn't love to get a datebook for Christmas?) of what I have done so far:
Sunday, December 21
Royal Daily Schedule
Arrived in Genovia. Due to large bagful of Skittles consumed on flight over, almost barfed on official Genovian welcome committee who came to airport to greet me as I disembarked from the plane.
One full day since I last saw Michael. Tried calling him at his grandparents' house in Boca Raton, where the Moscovitzes have gone for winter break, but no one answered, perhaps because of time difference, Genovia being six hours ahead of Florida.
Monday, December 22
Royal Daily Schedule
While touring naval cruiser, the Prince Phillipe, tripped over anchor, accidentally knocking Admiral Pepin into the Genovian harbor. He was okay, though. They fished him out with a harpoon.
But why am I the only one in this country who thinks pollution is an important issue? If people are going to dock their yachts in the Genovian harbor, they really ought to pay attention to what they are throwing overboard. I mean, porpoises get their noses stuck in those plastic six-pack holders all the time, and then they starve to death because they can't open their mouths to eat. All people have to do is snip the loops before they throw the holders out, and everything would be fine.
Well, all right, not everything, since you shouldn't be throwing trash overboard in the first place.
I simply cannot stand idly by while helpless sea creatures are being abused by a bunch of Bain de Soleil addicts in search ofthat perfect Saint-Tropez tan.
Two days since last saw Michael. Tried calling him twice. First time, no answer. Second time, Michael's grandmother answered and said I had just missed him, as Michael had gone to the pharmacy to pick up his grandfather's prescription foot powder. This is so like him, always thinking of others before himself.
Tuesday, December 23
Royal Daily Schedule
At breakfast with Genovian Olive Growers Association, mentioned unseasonable drought afflicting Mediterranean area must be the "pits." No one seemed to think this joke particularly amusing, particularly members of Olive Growers Association.
Three days since last saw Michael. No time to call due to pit controversy.
Meg Cabot is the author of the best-selling, critically acclaimed, immensely popular Princess Diaries
novels, as well as All-American Girl, Haunted,
and two Regency novels, Nicola and the Viscount
and Victoria and the Rogue.
Meg was born in Bloomington, Indiana, and her childhood was spent in pursuit of air conditioning, of which there was little at the time in southern Indiana. A primary source proved to be the Monroe County Public Library, where Meg whiled away many hours, reading the complete works of Jane Austen, Judy Blume, and Barbara Cartland.
Armed with a fine arts degree from Indiana University, Meg moved to New York City, intent upon pursuing a career in freelance illustration. Illustrating, however, soon got in the way of Meg's true love, writing, and so she abandoned it and got a job as the assistant manager of an undergraduate dormitory at New York University, writing on the weekends, and whenever her boss wasn't looking.
Meg lives in New York City with her husband, Benjamin, a poet, financial market writer and fellow Hoosier, and their one-eyed cat, Henrietta.