I’m a queen. I wasn’t sure you knew that about me, but I am a queen. Granted, I am only queen of the very small isle of Inmyfuckingmind, but there I reign. I’ve beaten back beasts, slain dragons, birthed princes and princesses, kept homefires burning, strode across the expanse of my territory with my head held high even when my territory rebelled against me.
But no one ever gave me a castle. Which seems lame. I should have a freaking parapet and moat, and, you know, MINIONS. So far, I have two asshole cats, a white mop parading as a shih tzu, and an old, naked Russian guy who lives across the street. My minions should be more and better.
Like Eleanor of Aquitaine or Almodis de la Marche, I maintained. Ok, I wasn’t abducted as a teen, excommunicated, the catalyst for murder (that I know of), or the mother of war-mongering king sons who tore apart the realm, but I DID stop a fight at the PTA meeting last night when some troll mother (who was last year’s co-president) decided to get all “I will slay your son’s sons!” (Ok, she was bitching about a pretzel sale, but it’s practically the same thing at the PTA.) And I totally rode in on my trusty steed (my Chuck Taylors) and slew that very troll with the special sword given to me by Nimue! (Or I just shut her down because she was annoying everyone and words are what I do. The pretzels were fine, salty lady!)
But! Last weekend, I got my castle. I also got my crown. Glasses of glog fit for my station, and knights fighting for my honor against the invading Vladimir! Wait, I think he said his king was Ulrich. ULRICH VON PUTIN!?!?
My kingdom was temporarily named “Medieval Times.” Located in the wylds of Lyndhurst. In the badlands of New Jersey. Weird name with a kingdom, and there seemed to be some confusion with the crowns, as it seemed they handed one to EVERYONE. Even the children. Pretty sure the serfs got crowns, too. I mean, they aren’t even old enough for the glog and ale. But, My serving wench assured me that I was the most-important queen, and therefore, the only one who mattered. This must be true because my glog was filled to the brim and my royal Diet Pepsi never went empty. Doubly true, because my vegetarian meal was brought out first–as is fitting for the queen.
She said “My lady, you’re the bestest ever. There has never been one before like you. I can see you perfectly through my magic looking glasses, and noticed how awesome you are. If I were a king, I’d totally bang you. Hell, I still may.” (Or it may have been, “more diet pepsi, milady?” But we can’t be sure. I’m deaf, and that place is loud AF. hmph. serfs.)
these are my offspring, so they totally deserved the crowns. Because, cuteness royalty.
And there were unicorns–tiny ones–everywhere. But they kept them behind glass cages. To play with them cost $40. BUT! It’s a steal if you consider just how expensive this fucking castle must be to upkeep. You’ve gotta pay the knights, feed and keep the horses well, pay the king’s ransom, buy all the ale, wine, and food, pay the wenches, the royal taxes of the kingdom of New Jersey–which means overlord Chris Christie. Train the knights. Keep the candles burning. You get the point. My kingdom is expensive, and it is worth it–and well-valued if you consider how costly it is to maintain.
It was seriously the most fun I’ve had in ages. I’m totally refreshed and ready to pillage.
VIVA LA RESISTANCE.
coincidentally, they’re having a special “you are not Cat the Awesome, but it’s spring break and Cat is a benevolent queen willing to extend to you a visit for a serf’s pay! Using code SB17 it’s just $39.95 for the adult peasants and $29.95 for the short peasants! *don’t forget to tip your wenches and bring extra $ to pet the unicorns.
And to go with this medieval feast, a medieval book from the archives and glog recipe! Click the pic!