Surely we all know the fairy tale about the princess and the pea, right? It’s the one where a princess inadvertently demonstrates her princessosity and thus proves herself to be, in fact, a bona-fide princess when she suffers insomnia from one little pea placed in the bottom of a bed stacked up ceiling-high with mattresses and blankets and comforters and stuff. (Like as opposed to the fact that it’s a strange bed, in more ways than one!) This came up in conversation with my young niece at some point recently, and it struck me that this story isn’t so much about sensitivity as it is about spoiled entitlement. You see, maybe only a princess would notice the pea under all those mattresses, and maybe anybody would; the difference is that most people (one would hope, anyway) would be too considerate and appreciative of their host to mention it even if they noticed it and it bothered them, but a princess would probably complain to high heaven about such a small detail they didn’t like even when they’re an uninvited guest in someone else’s home. So it’s not so much that she notices the pea as the fact that she complains about it despite being given a lovely room in a huge palace with a ridiculously plush bed to sleep in, and even though they brought her in out of the driving rain out of the kindness of their hearts. See? She’s a totally and impossibly rude mega-bitch; she must be a princess!
Now who thought to test her like that in the first place? It was the prince’s mother, who must have been a princess herself at some point, right? So naturally when the drenched wench showed up and claimed to be a princess, who but a former princess would realize that only a true princess would be complainy and ungrateful upon finding and enjoying such a windfall of welcoming hospitality after having been in such a sorry state before? It must have been hell for that princess to be caught out in the storm all alone like she was, not because of the conditions, but because there was nobody to complain to or bitch at about it. But luckily for her, upon finding the warmth and shelter of the prince’s castle, she was rescued from the horrible unpleasantness of having no-one to boss around. I can hear the prince’s mom thinking to herself: “If nothing is ever perfect enough, and the very best is not even good enough for her, then she’s perfect for my son!” She must have been a very spiteful mother, that’s all I can say. But in her defense, her son is a prince, and as such he must be a ridiculously rude and entitled little brat too!
By the way, in looking this thing up on Wikipedia to refresh my memory, I have found out that the first English translation for Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale “The Princess and the Pea” was done by some guy named “Charles Boner” in 1846. I’m glad he gave the children of England a fun fairy tale story, but seriously, if your name is Boner, you might want to stay away from careers involving children: no-one will ever regard you with anything other than suspicion with that name. And if you try to change your name, everyone will wonder what’s going on that you found it necessary to change your name. Like perhaps you did something in some other town you’re trying to escape from.
