It's that special day of the year again, the Feast of Kings, the occasion when we serve the Galette des Rois and someone is crowned king or queen for the day. This year the favor was found in "the share of God," the extra piece left for the first person to arrive at our home after this celebration. Claire was having none of that. She insisted on having the favor, on the grounds that she had never been the lucky recipient of the crown. To my surprise, some parent (Not me. Ahem.) acquiesced to this demand.
Drunk with the possibilities of her newly-appropriated sovereignty, Claire headed straight to the kitchen and came back with the marble rolling pin, hollering "Off with their heads!!!" No flimsy orb and scepter for this monarch, no siree. She attempted to wield this daunting bit of authority in the whereabouts of Wynham's pate, but like the good French peasant that he is, he took up his dinner fork and retorted with "Vive la Révolution!!!"
At this point, the Queen Mother decided she'd had just about enough of all this abuse of power and uttered words guaranteed to deflate any budding potentate: Go. To. BED!
Long Live the Queen...
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