Princess Smothering

As I promised in My Favorite Disney Princess and Why, I will explain the concept of princess smothering.

Princess smothering is an art form my grandma on my mother's side perfected. Since my name is Sarah and Sarah is Hebrew for princess, I of course must be a princess. My grandma made sure I never forgot this fact.

For years, all I received as gifts from them were princess related paraphernalia. Not even the stuff from Disney movies that little kids are obsessed with now. As far as my grandmother's mind worked if it was pink it was for a princess. If it was for a princess it was for Sarah.

For many little girls this wouldn't be a problem. For me, a little girl who played with trucks, wanted to be a Knight, and spent her days daring her comrades in mischeif to eat worms, this was a big problem. For the first few years of my life, I was okay with liking pink. My other grandma liked it so it couldn't be all bad. My mother's mother cured me of that thought. After years of bombardment by pink everything, I thoroughly detested that color. (It also didn't help that my bedroom walls had hideous pink wall paper I wasn't allowed to change.)

I had boxes filled with rhinestoned pink bandanas, binders reading "VIP Very Important Princess", pink shirts, pink skirts (something I wasn't much for wearing  regardless), etc. They all got shoved under my bed, only to be unearthed years later. Then thrown out because they weren't important archaeological discoveries (like the light bright). By the time I reached middle school, the thought of being called a princess or coming in contact with pink was enough to make my skin burn just on principal. It was like a cross or garlic for a vampire.

I, at one point, received a lecture (in letter form) about me being a princess based on my email address. As twelve year olds do they create ridiculous email addresses. Mine was no exception. (I would write it here, but I still use it.) One of the words in it was freak. A simple word yes, but leading to complicated lecture none the less. This letter went on about how God doesn't create freaks (to which I thought "where did you come from then?"). He only creates beautiful princesses. Therefore I could not be a freak. The actual letter was a lot wordier, but that was the main point of it. I was becoming more and more princessphobic (I wonder what the actual fear of princesses or pink is 'cause I had it.)

Finally sometime between middle school in high school I had enough. During a phone conversation with my grandmother, I was for like the nine billionth time explaining to her that I wasn't a princess. The conversation went like this:

Grandmother: You're a pretty princess.
Me: I'm not a princess.
Grandmother: But your name means princess.
Me: Well my middle name means John. So I guess I'm Princess John then.

That was officially the end of all princess nonsense. After 13 or 14 years, I had won the war and was free to roll in mud, climb things, and get injured, pink free. Or so I thought. Since then one of my best friends has made sure to never let me forget my princess status. Every year, I receive something pink, frilly, and/or princessy from her.

The moral of the story is either change your name when you have the chance, you can't escape your destiny, or (my personal favorite) your crazy friends will never let you forget they are still less crazy than your family.

An Epilogue of Sorts
I have since middle school cured myself of my fear of pink. I actual appreciate and enjoy it to some extent. I have not been called a princess straight to my face in years, but if someone were to try it, I'm not sure as to what horrible event would be the result.