A King No More
I have been overthrown by a 20” rebel in Huggies. There. I’ve said it. The King has fallen. Sir Edward Coke (no relation to the soft drink) stated that a man’s home is his castle. Alas, I have become but a humble servant in my own tiny kingdom.
She reigns supreme and without mercy or hesitation to enact and/or enforce her strict laws upon the citizenry. The smallest of transgressions see me banished to the furthest reaches of her kingdom. At least until she needs something which is, to be frank, quite often. The short term memory of the Queen is an admitted plus.
Her furious barks and yelps and cries usher forth servants with plates of food, bottles of sustenance and, if the occasion calls for it, a changing of the royal robes. Immediacy is expected lest her wrath be felt and heard for several adjacent kingdoms.
Wayward travelers are immediately drawn in by her cute and harmless demeanor only to be quickly drawn in and assigned roles with an expediency that any CEO would envy. She demands instant and complete loyalty. It is given, unquestionably. Various roles are filled at the whims of her often unpredictable moods, royal rockers, diaper changers, cooks, playmates, court jester, each in turn is summoned and dismissed as her temper changes.
I, the deposed King, laugh at others as I watch her twist them around her little fingers and play them like so many marionettes on string, dancing to her whim and will. I chuckle at the way they fawn and fret over her and obey her every command without question. Suckers all.
For I am the worst. By far. I’m twisted around that same finger so many times I’m amazed there’s room for more. But alas, she manages. Me? Most often I am playmate but I’ve seen my role shift to that of private taxi as she becomes more mobile and her fondness for exploring grows. A pointed finger and an unintelligible babble and away I go.
And now, she’s taken my side of the bed. My spot on the couch and my food at dinner. She’s taken my trinkets for toys and hours of my day. She controls the music and ALL the televisions with an iron hand. She dictates when I eat. When I sleep. When I shower. She’s a tyrant in diaper. Where once I ruled unopposed I am now relegated to the duty of her pleasure and on call 24 hours a day.
However, she’s done it with such sweetness and guile that now, in retrospect, I am not sure if she overthrew me or if I abdicated the throne willingly. I find myself a willing accomplice in the vacating of my own place in the hierarchy and such a whirlwind it’s been that I cannot for the life of me remember the exact sequence of events. Such is her power.
Doesn’t matter.
The King has fallen.
Long live the Queen.
