Pretty Pink (Nonconsensual) Kisses

My son and I went over to my girlfriend's house for dinner last night. She has a three-year-old daughter with the same flame-red hair as her mother. While her mother has been a rather mild-mannered red head and I've known her since our halcyon high school days, my friend's daughter is a pistol.

While my Top Chef-loving son amicably played with her miniature kitchen set and baked imaginary cookies for everyone, things took a turn once they moseyed up to the pink palace that is the girl's bedroom. The little fashionista proceeded to try on every princess dress in her collection, and then wowed us all with full bridal regalia including veil, heels and tufts upon tufts of white ruffles.

"You have to marry me!" she screeched at my son.

Though he had been game enough to play chef to her waitress, and perhaps even brave knight to her princess-in-tower, he was a rather hesitant groom.

"Kiss meeeeeeeeeee!" she screeched again at the determined bachelor. He in turn ran down the hall and cried.

Once we managed to convince Romeo that Juliet would desist in all sexual assaults upon his person, the two miniature we's proceeded to dress me up in their love. I was ensconced in feather boas, covered in both bridal veils and babushkas (simultaneously), glossed in pink oft-used lipstick, painted imaginary fingers and toes, and bedazzled with light-up ruby rings and rave-worthy glow-in-the-dark necklaces. I was only sorry I couldn't fit in any of the Princess's kitten heels.

By then Princess had disrobed to nothing but a pair of pink panties and boudoir heels.

"Mom, why is she naked?" the troubled Prince inquired.

"Oh, it's not like you haven't seen your mother in the same thing," I laughed and shrugged my shoulders.

At which point Princess slid off the offending pink panties and showed the Prince her whole tiara. He just stood and stared at me wide-eyed and somewhat relieved she wasn't trying to plant one on him in her denuded state.

"It's not polite to remove your panties in front of company," my friend reminded her daughter.

(Oh, if only my own mother had reminded me of such things!)

I left feeling primped, pampered and girlified. I'll admit my ovaries twirled a bit as Princess Pink enveloped me in glittery girldom and preschool pedicures. While my head was twirling with visions of ballerinas, tiaras and plastic stilletos, my son was round-eyed and wounded at the indignity of love's first nonconsensual kiss(es).