Tuesday 20 November 2012

Talking to a Princess.

I’m still a bit fascinated by the murderess who just wants to be a princess and be rescued by a man, so much so that I found myself in conversation with her while I was in Ashbourne today:

‘What’s your name, Princess?’

‘Guess.’

‘Er… Snow White.’

‘Nope. More syllables.’

‘Rapunzel?’

‘Nope. Still more syllables.’

‘Oh, right. Must be Pocahontas, then.’

‘Nope. A lot more syllables than that.’

‘More than Pocahontas?’

‘Many more.’

‘OK, I give up. What is your name?’

‘It’s Princess Goidsargi Estibaliz Carranza Zabala.’

‘Blimey. All one person?’

‘Yes, but I have many strings to my bow. Would you like to see inside one of my ice cream freezers?’

‘I suppose so. Do you have vanilla?’

‘Of course. I think there’s room in that one.’

‘Room for what?’

‘Shit!’

Bang.

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