Hear Ye, Hear Ye, All Stand Whilst Reading Today’s Post. You are in the Presence of Royalty.

Posted on February 6, 2009
Filed Under Daily, Family | 4 Comments

People, I am the 837,265,924th lady in line to the throne!

Let me explain.

When I was in high school, my bff, Tina and I got jobs.
I followed in my sister’s footsteps, and did a stint at Things Remembered, and Tina picked up a part-time gig at American Eagle.
Those were our first summer jobs, and that year, Things Remembered moved from one wing of the mall to the other.
Part of my job was to help other staff pack up the store, and move it to TR’s new location.

Well, when I was 16, I didn’t like busy work, being told what to do, getting my hands dirty, or having to stand on my feet for eight hours while jotting down stupid love notes to be engraved on flasks, and money clips.

(I do realize that at this point, one would ask oneself, ‘why then would you get a job?’)

But that’s not the point.

One afternoon, while I was supposed to be helping the store move, I decided to go on “lunch,” which actually happened to be located in the women’s section of American Eagle.

When I got there, naturally, Tina decided to join me, and we mostly wandered aimlessly around the mall talking about how stupid our jobs were.
Most of our conversation had to do with Tina explaining to me that AE has their employees write down their clothing and shoe sizes, so they refrain from getting their friends a ton of stuff on their employee discount.

Well, AE is obvs in the dark about high school kids.
Attention AE Corporate Staff: Don’t you know that all girls in high school look exactly the same? (Take a look at the posters on your walls.) (Oh, and while you’re at it, be sure to pop into Hollister and Abercrombie).
See, high school girls all wear the same clothes, shoes, accessories, and carry the same handbags.
They also all have the same size butt.
So, aside from there being NO WAY to enforce that rule, it’s just plain stupid.
But I digress…

After we circled the entire mall, Tina suggested I go back to work to help my company move. And although that thought did momentarily cross my mind, we somehow managed to end up back at American Eagle, and before I knew what happened, Tina was in the middle of trying to convince her manager that I was royalty.

“She is a princess,” Tina said. “I swear!”

I didn’t argue her point, I thought it was great – while my manager, and co-workers were packing boxes, and sweating like rats in the stock room, I was sipping a smoothie, while my best friend tried to get everyone in the store to kiss my feet.

Well, People, guess what?
Turns out, Tina wasn’t so far off.
A decade later, I have discovered that I am in fact a descendant of royalty.

This week/end, my sister, dad, and I packed our overnight bags, and hit the road for a little Father-Daughter(s) road trip to visit family.

Aside from this trip meaning that presents, and really fatty food, were def. in store, these trips also mean that we learn a lot about where our families came from. We get to examine family trees, and learn about relatives we never knew we had. We find out what our aunts and uncle were like as kids/teens/newlyweds, and hear hilarious stories about how my dad’s three sisters once put him in a dress, covered him in lipstick and tried to take pictures of him.
(I say, “tried” because after my dad, who apparently had curly blonde hair when he was little, smelled trouble, he totally wigged out, and striped naked before the camera’s flash went off).

Just this afternoon while sitting down for lunch with my aunt in her home, we learned that my grandmother was a princess, whose glory was cut short when her parents gave birth to a baby boy when granny was like 14 years old.

Bummer.

Growing up, I knew that my grandmother was very well taken care of in her youth.
I knew of the people who had been hired just to brush her long dark hair. I knew that when it came to school, she was kept in the house (read: homeschooled) and taught by scholars, and professors who weren’t even allowed to see her; student and teacher had to be separated by a curtain, in order to protect her beauty.
I knew she had hourly rubdowns with luxurious oils, and hand-crushed herbs and minerals to keep her skin glowing and youthful, and I also knew that with each of the six children she gave birth to, the only time she saw them was to nurse; she was to use the remainder of the day, and night, to rest.

But all of what I knew as a kid doesn’t hold a candle to what I learned today.

When my grandmother was a child, and because she was from a royal family, her servants always took the first bite of food from her plate, before they fed her, to ensure that no one tried to poison her. (Yup, she never actually held a utensil for much of her life).
See, she was the only child, and the only girl, and she was the heiress to the family estate.

Now, don’t think of my grandmother like the Queen of England, or Princess Jasmine — think more along the lines of the Duchess of York (minus the rendezvous with Texas multimillionaire Steve Wyatt.)

My grandmother and her family lived on a fort, which was like a castle. And although I haven’t seen the ruins, my dad said the next trip we take will be so I can go claim my place on the throne.
(Okay, he didn’t say that last part, but he did say we could go see the ruins).

Totally excited by my new found majesty, I decided to call my mom.

Mom: Hello?

Me: Mom? Are you busy?

Mom: Well, I’m with a student.

Me: Great! You have a minute? Cool. I need for you to explain something to me.

Mom: Okay.

Me: So, we found out today that Mimmi was a princess.

Mom: Yeah, she was a descendant of royalty.

Me: Yeah! You knew that? So, cool, right?

Mom: Yeah, that’s nice. But they weren’t at the top.

Me: What?

Mom: They were like the third down in line from the king. And it’s not like a “King” and “Queen” concept like what we understand today. It’s more like they were the royal family of the estate/village they oversaw.

Me: Oh. But. Hmm.

Mom: But yeah, they were really well known, and she was basically a princess until her brother was born.

Me: So, who are you?

Mom: Huh?

Me: You’re someone too, right? Like your dad was someone royal, right?

Mom: Well, no. The king/ruler of the city we used to live in gave my great-grandfather, and grandfather titles because my great-grandfather was like his right hand man.

Me: Like being “knighted?”

Mom: Yeah, kind of.

Me: Oh yeah, Oh ME, Oh yeah!

Mom: Well, they did have those titles…which in today’s world are worthless.

Me: So, what are you trying to say? I’m not royalty?

Mom: laughter

Mom: Okay, well, talk to you later.

Me: Hello?

I’m not sure why my mom decided to ruin my life day by telling me that I was no different than the meager servants who brushed my grandmother’s hair — she’s usually really nice. Somewhere in the conversation, she even went as far as saying that not only do titles not mean anything in today’s world, but Islamically, they’re also pretty bogus. (Something about all people being created equal.)

I get that my mom wants to keep me humble, and grounded, but after we got off the phone, I Googled, “Find a Servant Who Will Eat Your Food to Ensure You’re Not Being Poisoned,” just in case she’s secretly plotting my demise so she can try to claim my inheritance.

Oh, don’t you worry, MOTHER. I’ll practice. You better believe I will. I’ll practice so in case this ever happens, I’ll be ready.

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