Alas, pink didn’t match Princess Poot’s nail fungus at all.
There once lived a princess so lovely and non-gassy, she outshone the heavens, and even the Vegas strip. This is not a story about that lady.
Our tale involves Princess Poot, who couldn’t outshine a pile of mulch, especially if it was one of those fancy mulches they sell behind the tire fire. Poot was the shittiest princess ever, for many reasons, including her terribleness at in-line skating.
One of Poot’s worst traits was her inability to wear Pink with aplomb. Unfortunate, for Pink was the Official Princess Color™ in her home of Kingdomville. “Pink is used for the fabric of princess clothes” as the pithy saying went. It really emphasized the puss undertones of Poot’s face, and matched her zit scars.
While drunk on beer and fermented sno-cones one evening, Poot and her platonic prince-wife Agnes tried to makeover Poot’s Official Princess Gown to be more flattering. This was a tricky undertaking, for royal ladies are only allowed to wear one style of gown. You’d think that princesses could afford myriad gowns what with all their money, resources, and Sore-Fingered Sewing Minions. Sadly, no. Turn on any animated movie and you will observe that young royals can never change clothes. Poot’s closet was filled to brimming with the same pink dress: Fluorescent yellow starfishes over each boob; giant balls of mauve fabric on each hip; and bows across her butt, at her elbows, and on her feet. And, naturally, a tall, pointy pink hat with a “P” on it.
“It’s hopeless,” said Poot as she squished her enormous knocker into the scratchy confines of a too-small starfish. “If I were a proper princess, my tits would fit. No one wants a princess doll with chronic back problems.”
Agnes circled the gown and shook her head in dismay. “Why star fishes? Kingdomville is landlocked.”
“My father thought he’d make me an ocean-themed Princess. Then, The Little Mermaid debuted and axed our movie deal.” Poot sighed and grabbed for her pint. The glass slipped from her satin magenta opera gloves and crashed to the floor. “Once a princess dress is designed, it stays forever. You can’t imagine what sea creature adorns my underpants. Beer me.”
Agnes beered Poot and shuddered at the oddness of it all. Her panties had a rhinoceros theme, like normal people.
“I can loan you one of my outfits,” Agnes offered. She’d grown up as a horrible, moneyless drudge, but since marrying Poot, she was able to trade her consort salary of beer for cute jeans and yak-fur doublets. Everyone knows that superior clothes make you a superior person.
“I’m allergic to yak fur.”
They were, indeed, in a difficult predicament.
Since the Pink Princess proclamation was actually written into Kingdomville’s great book of laws, The Big Book With Rules Written In, Poot know that the only person who could change it was her father, King Handsome. She’d tried to approach Dad with this issue several times before, but wound up accidentally changing the Official Duke Color to puce, and Salisbury steak day in the cafeteria from Tuesday to Wednesday. Her pater was not named King Good Listener.
Poot put on mascara (stabbed self in eye), a minimizing bra (sprained boob), and perfume (stabbed self in eye), and clomped off gracefully (tripped on potted fern) to her official audience with dear ol’ dad. “My father the king, I wanna strike a blow for princesses everywhere!”
“You want to blow princesses? No wonder you’re not married,” declared King Handsome from his gilded throne constructed of sporks. He’d been watching a lot of Game of Thrones during a kingdom-wide spork surplus.
Princess Comely XII and Princess Ravishing XIV, her sisters, tittered in the corner. That is not to say they flapped their properly medium-sized boobies, but they laughed. They always snickered at Poot, for they looked gorgeous in pink, and never tripped on plastic plants.
“She’s single because she smells like pizza,” sneered Comely XII.
“She’s single because she looks like pizza,” jeered Ravishing XIV.
“I’m single because I look terrible in pink!” neither sneered nor jeered Poot. “And many men enjoy the smell of pizza. I propose that we change the Princess Color from pink to black.”
Handsome gasped. “Black? That’s the color for People Who Bicycle at Night.” (Kingdomville is rated the most dangerous place to bike according to Let’s Annoy Cars magazine.) “Odd daughter Poot, have you considered wearing your head bag again when you go on dates? That might help.”
It might help — if Poot had dates. “There are many reasons black is better than pink for princesses. One, it’s slimming, and being skinny is akin to godliness according to Father Misses-the-Point. Two, it would match my nail fungus. Three —”
“Enough of this nonsense!” Handsome stood and adjusted his red cape to best advantage. “Pink is the color for women, and princesses are the ultimate expression of women, so, therefore, their color must be pink.”
“But why is pink for ladies? My royal apartments look like a Pepto Bismol monster exploded there. Even my toaster is pink!”
Handsome laughed. “Of course it is! Men don’t make toast. They catch it in the forest because they are manly.” He was not named King Smart.
Poot left and wished, not for the first time, that she was a lesbian. Women definitely enjoyed the smell of pizza. And didn’t think that toast roamed the woods.
However, her father had given her a solution to her problem, at least partially. Poot would wear her terrible pink gown during the day. But for night time, she’d commission a black dress…and add a bike helmet! Huzzah! It might even disguise the thing on her forehead.
And so Our Heroine Poot donned her black gown — which featured no starfishes, yet had big pockets for her romance novels — and was much happier. She even made new friends with the castle goths! The Earl of Frownbury was a total hottie, although he was not a prince. But that’s a story for another day.