"I Once Met A Princess - The Untold Story"

Wherein readers learn the blogger had no natural proclivity for screenwriting.

It all seemed clichéd.

And yet, on some murmuring level, it felt like a movie.

Being unable to pull such a thing off, I never gave it a try.

Working at Harrod’s, I ran into a princess.  (See: My Single Brush With Royalty, posted, most recently, last December 23^rd.)  I had helped her with her parcels, and we had ignitingly hit it off.  I tried to turn down her tip, but she insisted I take it.  I felt personally offended.  But deep down, I may have hopefully preferred this.

Written as screenplay bullet points:

The princess and the toy wrapper head in separate directions, she for the exit, he, back to “Toy-Wrapping Hell.”  Suddenly she stops, turns back to him and says,

“Excuse me.  Would you like to spend Christmas in my country?”

That sounds like a movie, doesn’t it?  “Opposites attract”, and off we go?  Insert “Opening Titles” right here? 

But then, then what?  Stuff I make up.  Which, when I do it feels… made up.

A personal jet awaits at the airport.  The princess reports, “There will be two of us.”  Followed by a nodding,  “Very good, mum.”  (Though they really mean “Ma’am.)

Comedy ensues, as I take my first “Luxury Flight.”

We arrive in Luxembourg.  Glistening snow.  Twinkling lights.  Rosy-cheeked kids, filled with Yuletide excitement. 

Can you feel the clichés?  I have turned an actual place into a Christmas card painting.

I meet the King (having decided “No wife”), a doting Dad, used to his daughter bringing how “strays.”  I meet the country’s Prime Minister.  “Obsequiously clever, but ‘dark’.”

This is the first time – though hardly the last – that I consider removing myself from the picture.  Must all movie Prime Ministers be “obsequiously clever but ‘dark’”?  They do in my movies.

I am ushered to my room.  Blazing wood-burning fireplace.  Canopied four-poster bed.  Fresh-baked shortbread in a castle-shaped cookie jar.  The room is fit for a king… except I’m sure the real king has a better room.  I wonder what he gets.

The next day, we go skiing, hi-jinx assured, it being my first time on the slopes.

Everyone laughs.  They like me.  I am silly and unserious.

We share walks and talks through the sumptuous surroundings, me, because I can’t help myself, noting the disparity between what regular people experience “… and this.” (a scene sure to be edited out of the picture.)

Christmas Eve.  All is calm, all is bright.

Until…

I overhear clandestine chatter.  It sounds like the P.M. and his cronies are up to no good.

(Like we didn’t see that coming!”)

I alert the princess.  She insists I have undoubtedly misunderstood.  Though I can tell she’s concerned.

More fun in the snow.   

ME: (Brandishing snowball)  “Are you sure I can do this?” 

PRINCESS:  “Bring it on, commoner!”  

Lavish dinners.  The princess shows me how to eat escargot.  (Which I secrete into my napkin.)  I forget the “intrigue”, my mind abuzz with “How did I get here?”

At the Royal New Year’s Eve Gala, there is an “accident”, explained as a “fireworks snafu.”  Recalling The Three Amigos, I tell the endangered princess, “This is real.”

The princess immediately alerts her father.  Angrily summoned, the wily Prime Minister talks his way out of it, promising to “round up the usual suspects.”

Okay, I’m tired, and pretty much really fed up.  (Really?  Stooping to “Casablanca”?)  I’m going to stop this before the King’s locked in the dungeon, the bristling princess, confined to her quarters. 

I regret not reaching the point, where, I inject myself into the action, rallying the populace, who rise up against “Evil”, restoring the monarchy (after promises of meaningful reform), and all’s right with the world.

I know.  It’s terrible.  Well at least I have spared you, and myself, the scene delving into “The Relationship.”  Is it a “friendship”, or has it gradually blossomed into “more”?  Were there “misconstrued signals” involved… Yikes!  I am totally unsuited for this work.  Not to mention the historical nonsense I have contrived.  What do I know about Luxembourg?  (Is it still even a place?)

Here’s the thing.

What happened between me and the princess actually happened.  This ridiculous foolishness did not. 

Although now that I think about it, the original story feels real, because it is.

Maybe that could be a movie. 

Let’s see now…

“Earl, stop!”

You’re right, “Internalized Conscience.”

I’ll just stick to my game.