Reality and The Royal Court Meet

When I lived in Hollywood, I liked to claim my true heritage and go by the name Princess Marcella DeLaLuna. My great grandmother on my mother’s side was a Mayan Indian princess and I have a fairy ancestor from Scotland on my father’s side, making me a true fairy princess. My friends also chose royal names–Pleasant was Princess Farhana (and wrote a book of poetry called Princess of Hollywood) and Valerie was the Countess and my best friend and partner-in-crime, Kim, was the Empress.
One evening our worlds clashed.
I went to the grungy video store on Sunset Blvd to rent a movie. The large cashier with the wire glasses knew me from my frequent visits. I handed him my video to rent.
“Kim’s account, right?” he said, typing into his computer.
This perplexed me.
“No she’s not.” I said.
He glanced at me and enunciated further. “Kim’s account, right?”
“No, Kim’s not a count,” I answered, unable to understand why he was calling Kim a count. Even if she was of count lineage she would be called a countess, not a count. This guy was nuts.
He slowed down further, staring at me, the line behind me watching the exchange with interest now. “Kim’s account…”
I laughed. “No, no no, Kim’s not a count. Kim’s the Empress, I’m the princess, there is no count.”
He stared at me. “Please don’t do this to me. I’ve been working since this morning. Kim’s account.”
“Kim’s not a count.”
He buried his head in his hands.
All of a sudden, it all clicked.
“Ahhh, Kim’s account!” I said, it all becoming clear. I clapped my hand over my mouth and tears came to my eyes. “Yes, Kim’s account.”
He shook his head, filled out the form, and I signed. The line of people behind me seemed awestruck.
“Valerie’s a countess,” I said as I walked out the door, my face still red from embarrassment, tears smudging my mascara from laughing so hard in confusion.