Oftentimes (read: everyday) I like to pretend that I'm a Disney princess trapped inside a disparagingly less photogenic world.
Typically, this consists of make-believing that my car is my sturdy canoe, and that my backyard oak tree is in fact Grandmother Willow.
Yesterday, however, I was itching for a new song.
I don't know whether it was prompted by the change in scenery, the loss of my beloved technological companion (I may as well have lost a child), or the wee addition to my outfit that I like to call a "Jasmine peak", but . . .
OK. Yeah I do.
It was totally the Jasmine peak.
But my location didn't exactly hurt either.
So think of this post as a little tale unto itself.
Non-princess girl journeys from the slowly-gentrifying French neighborhood in which she begins,
to the bonifide stomping grounds of the Parisian upper crust.
All while wearing combat boots.
It's a whole new world, baby.
Only one thing missing.
I'll see if you can guess.
It rhymes with Baladdin.