I Rule My Castle. My Castle Has Doritos All Over It.

It was a usual Saturday: time for Reality TV and junk food. Doritos and ice cream, to be precise. My bed was soft, the food was plentiful, and the ice cream was chocolate. Chocolate, cheese, and Drama. What a life.

I always looked up to The Kardashians for their sense of style and business savvy. Before you ask, yes, this is what I was binge watching on Hulu. I was particularly drawn to Kim and her fierceness. And I felt like her family was almost like….royalty? I never really put two-and-two together that this girl boss and her relatives were American Reality TV Royalty, but it struck me pretty hard at that moment. With a spoon full of ice cream hovering near my lips, I was entranced.

It seemed like an epiphany. I’m not sure why. It might’ve been all the sugar.

PRINCESS? TOTES.

Once I came upon this realization, I paused what I was doing, (Reality TV, Doritos, hand in bag, chips to face, rinse, repeat) and stumbled into my roomie’s room to find something sparkly to smack onto my skull or face region. Kim was a Princess, so why not I? My bedroom was my Castle, and my Castle was covered in Doritos. I made a judgement call; her room was an absolute disaster.

So was mine.

Fair enough.

She had once said anything I saw with my own eyes, without opening stuff up, I could wear until it broke. However, despite her request…

I was a weak, weak person with a pint of ice cream in my stomach & a Dorito mess on my face.

So I decided to barge into her closed closet.

I FOUND STUFF LIKE THIS. NO, I’M NOT KIDDING. WEIRD POP CULTURE MEMORABILIA AND A BUNCH OF EXTREMELY QUESTIONABLE SWEATERS. THIS WAS THE REALEST.

But I also found a perfectly sparkly princess tiara and I was quite pleased with myself. I was going to be a Princess. A Princess like Kim K, and a member of my own royal family, which included my pets.

Dorito crumbs and all, I was just like her, I told myself.

I waddled back to my room and closed the door, quietly, as if I were sneaking away from a Queen’s treasure trove and she’d stumble home any minute to find me. Which she honestly might have, I imagined. But at some point, I got lazy, and forgot, and curled up with my goldfish and my cat to watch more Reality Shows; named Lionel and Kitty Purry, respectively.

Kitty Purry is my cat’s name. I’m a genius.

The hand was yet again back in the Dorito bag, and I was queen of my castle. A grown up woman, treating myself to a morning of flights of fancy, binge-watching Project Runway, Keeping up with the Kardashians, and Top Model, while my cat did barrel rolls all over the bed sheets.

There was talking but I assumed it was coming from the television, as my face was buried in snacks.

I DIDN’T QUITE KNOW IT YET, BUT I WAS DOOMED.

I CAN FEEL. THE FEELING IS DOOMED. DOOMED, YET SPARKLY.

Needing my coffee infusion, I made my way through the carnage of junk food to patter into the kitchen. I hadn’t noticed that my roomie and a boy were talking. A new boy.

She stared at me like I had seven heads.

It took me a moment.

It took me a moment to realize I was wearing her tiara over a hurricane bun (cousin of the messy bun), backwards and inside-out joggers, giant fuzzy bunny slippers, and a t-shirt with Dorito hand prints on it… and a boy was there.

AND THE TIARA WAS ON MY HEAD.

She wasn’t mad. I was actually not doomed, I was being dramatic. I like Drama (ha-ha). But she did extend a hand to swipe the thing from my head.

“Productive day, huh?”

“Totally.”

Not.