Brat child

So darling daughter is going to another fucking Princess Party at the weekend. We're all crippling ourselves financially to send our daughters to the best goddamn school in the country to give them the opportunity to become what? Neurosurgeons? Lawyers? Scientists? No, apparently they all just want to be Princesses and to marry Handsome Princes. Still, I guess it's early days. They are only turning 5 after all and there's a long way to go before they grow up into the real deal. I pray to God that my intelligent, feisty, independent little ball of energy doesn't turn into some simpering fool waiting for some man to come along and rescue her that's all...

So anyway, I succumb to the pressure (yes, I'm all mouth and no trousers - or perhaps all frills and no knickers?) and take the little Princess off to Brent Cross to buy a costume for this splendiferous event. After all, her old costume is now torn and too small for her and that just won't do - what kind of handsome prince would want to rescue a princess in a too tight torn outfit after all?

I decide that the best costume is Snow White. So lovely against her pale skin, dark hair and blue eyes and at least it's not pink. As I am walking over to the till with it, I see that I am being followed by a screaming banshee dragging a vile bubble gum pink sleeping beauty costume across the floor going hysterical that she wants that one. What do I do? Stand my ground? Tell her calmly but firmly that she is having the Snow White or nothing at all? No. Lily livered pathetic excuse of a woman that I really am, I look sheepishly at the assistant and hand over both dresses thinking that I can have the argument at home. The devil child stops crying instantly, smiles up at me as if to say - I may be small, I may be your daughter, but I WILL ALWAYS GET WHAT I WANT. I guess that bodes quite well for her future after all...