Queen

I've known many people who felt that they were meant to be born rich and many more who felt they were born to marry rich.I've known others who felt they were born to be treated like royalty or who were royal in the sense of being "a royal pain". I, however, am different. I, however, was born to be a Queen.
This first became evident at my birth when I presented myself, not in the usual face-down position, but with my nose in the air. My first experience at ruling, it is said, was when I came home from the hospital. My siblings tell me that the entire household revolved around my wants and needs. Of course.
My apparent misplacement in a middle class family became more obvious as I learned to sit on the "throne" at an early twelve months of age. Other children wanted dolls or BB guns. I craved a scepter. While kids in the neighborhood lined up their American army men to shoot at and annihilate the "Reds" or the "Japs" (This was back in those old, politically incorrect 50's), my soldiers snubbed the other kid's armies and refused to let them into the Red Cross Ball.
Yes, somewhere, a mistake had been made. Somewhere, a little middle class minded child was worrying my royal parents with her appalling lack of knowledge concerning the use of finger bowls and the management of servants. Somewhere, a little girl sat at her castle window yearning for backyard picnics and public schools.
I continued trying to assert my round-peg self into my parent's square-peg world. After all, who can ever forget the day I came running home with a perfect report card, declaiming to my mother that I had made the "A list"? This trend continued throughout my teenage years where peer approval had an entirely different meaning for me than it did for my classmates.
Undaunted by the distinct lack of obeisance from my subjects, I left school to travel throughout my realm. I held my head high and eventually married a prince of a man.While my neighbors were trying to keep up with the Joneses, I had my eye on the Windsors. I spent my days with a few dear friends, sipping Earl Grey tea and complaining about the servant problem (Regretably, our problem was the lack of them).
How did someone of my obvious royal qualifications end up living on the wrong side of the castle walls? Possibly, it could be traced back to my marriage - when my husband mentioned Riviera, I assumed he meant "French", not "Beach".
So here I wait, always with a queenly mein, a sense of noblesse oblige and an eye for good jewelry. I know in my heart that somewhere I have a long lost relative with royal blood. After all, on several occasions, I have been called a princess - which just goes to show, the truth will out.