I guess I might as well post since I'm here.
Last night, my roommate and I were talking about important matters. Such as what type of a fairy I was. "You're not a Tinkerbelle," quoth she. "I see you more as a youthful version of Flora, Fauna and Merryweather."
Really?
"One tsp. Tsp?"
"One teaspoon!"
"What's that for?"
"Well, it's got to have a hole in the bottom. That's for the feet to go through!"
"Make it blue!" "Make it pink!" "Make it blue!"
Sigh. It's me! What can I say? (Though my baking is significantly better than Fauna's . . . and without magic, too! I promise!)
I wonder which one I'll look like as I age?
Also last night, as I was walking home, I was surrounded by the most astounding FLOCK of fireflies! Not a swarm. Never a swarm. Fireflies are far too magical to ever be called a swarm. They were a flock, and very bright and flockish and twinkly, and I was enthralled!
All right, my work experiences are tending from the silly to the downright bizarre.
An older man at one of my tables called me over today. "Yes, sir?" said I.
Without answering, he took my hand and lifted it to his face. For a brief moment, I thought, "He's recognized me for the long-lost princess that I am and is going to kiss my hand out of respect!" That's what it looked like . . . .
But he smelled it.
Yes, that's what I said, he SMELLED it.
"Is that vanilla stuff you've got on?" the other people at the table asked . . . while he continued sniffing.
So, maybe I put a little too much perfume on today. But vanilla is my "signiture scent," and I like for it to be recognizeable! Still, standing there while a man spent several moments smelling my hand made me ponder the notion of cutting down on the perfume, maybe . . . . .
I told them that I was just trying to get them in the mood for one of our excellent desserts!
But, honestly, I really thought for a moment that someone had finally discovered my lineage and was going to escort me back to my real kingdom where I would ascend the throne my wicked step-uncle stole from me . . . . except, if I'm a gypsy princess, I guess I wouldn't have a throne . . . and I don't have any step-uncles that I'm aware of, much less wicked ones.
Sigh . . . .
I was told again today that I am too proper to be nineteen. "Why don't you spit a little, Anne Elisabeth," said my manager. "That would bring you down to our level."
Honestly, I don't TRY to be anything other than what I am! I don't know where this proper business is coming from. I also don't know why people keep guessing me at older than I am. "You've got to be at least twenty-four." No.
I was guessed at thirty-two the day after my eighteenth birthday!
This doesn't bode well for the future . . . .
On the subject of dragon-slaying (which we weren't on just now, but I'm referring to an older subject): My Rilla-cat slayed a dragon for me today! She couldn't give it to me since she's in the far off realm of Minocqua Wisconsin and I am not . . . but she definitely brought it into the house for my mother. It was one of those deadly, fire-breathing Dragonflies! She's so brave! I know she was concerned for me and wanted to prove that someone thought me worth slaying dragons over!
I love my Rilla!
All right, if you've reached this line, I congratulate you on reading yet another novel by reknowned, aspiring authoress (that sounds better than simply "unpublished"), A.E. Stengl. But the writer must stop now and go be an artist again. I've almost finished a pet portrait of Bella the Bloodhound . . . . Soon I'll be done with that commission and free to do my own projects!
Let me leave you with a question.
Something for you to ponder the rest of the day, perhaps the rest of your life.
Are you ready?
"If Anne Elisabeth were one of the Sleeping Beauty fairies, which one will she look like when she gets older?"
My answer: I wouldn't be asking you if I knew! | 
