Mummy Princess is a modern Princess.
She is a Princess who cleans her own bog, wipes her own children’s arses and does her own food shopping. Mummy Princess doesn’t want to be like this – she would rather be like Kate Middleton, who unlike Mummy Princess, isn’t on first name terms with the staff at Poundworld.
Unlike Princess Kate, stupid Mummy Princess squandered all her wealth on beer and trainers and can’t afford staff to do all the mundane shit for her, so has to do it all her fucking self.
Yes, all her fucking self, despite being one of two adults in the castle.
This shit includes cooking for Angry Teen and Princess Tantrum, who are ungrateful bastards, and Daddy Prince who’s arms and legs cease to work the moment he steps in the house from being big and important in the Kingdom of London. Daddy Prince is tired from drinking all the coffee his secretary brings him all day, so couldn’t possibly lift a finger to cook dinner.
This is okay though, as Mummy Princess sometimes lets the cat lick Daddy Prince’s dinner before she gives it to him. A petty act, yes, but my God does it make Mummy Princess feel better about her life.
For all her whinging, Mummy Princess doesn’t actually mind cooking and she is actually quite good at it when the mood takes her. Now, Mummy Princess isn’t saying she is Jamie Oliver – for starters, he’s a cunt. No, she is more like Queen Nigella but with a slightly larger arse and a much smaller kitchen.
One evening, Mummy Princess decided to push the boat out and cook a fish pie, from scratch.
Oh Mummy Princess – why didn’t you just go to Waitrose and get a ready made one? Is it because you had already drank two glasses of wine so couldn’t drive there?
The fish pie was a fucking triumph. Mummy Princess made the cheese sauce and everything, which was a massive pain in the arse. The whole thing took hours and Mummy Princess was bloody exhausted, but finally, it was time to sit down and eat dinner as a family.
“Come and get it, you unhelpful bunch” Hollered Mummy Princess.
Not one bugger moved.
After shouting “dinners ready, fuckwits” twenty two times, Mummy Princess gave up and opened a packet of crisps at the bottom of the stairs. Somehow, the little buggers managed to hear that and came running. Isn’t it funny how the little fuckers can hear a packet of crisps opening from three miles away, but they are oblivious to Mummy Princesses fishwife act.
“What the hell is this?” Sneered Angry Teen, barely looking up from his fucking iPad, “Ergh, is that broccoli? I had Doritos and RedBull on the way home from school, I’m not hungry.”
“Whaaaaaaa” Screamed Princess Tantrum as she threw her bowl at Mummy Princesses head before running off to break more shit.
“I had chips at the pub at lunchtime” said that bastard Daddy Prince, “because, you know, my job is so stressful and important, I need a two hour lunch break having fags and beer”.
As everybody shunned the home cooked meal that she had slaved over for two hours, Mummy Princess lost her shit.
“Piss off, all of you” screamed Mummy Princess “I am never cooking for any of you again.You can all die of starvation and I will dance on your graves.”
Mummy Princess was so tired from cooking for hours and so deflated that it was chucked back in her face that she decided to treat herself and called the nice take away down the road and sobbed down the phone to them as she ordered lots of angry calories.
“Fuck you all,” thought Mummy Princess as the nice man from the Indian restaurant brought her a lovely takeaway, “Fuck the lot of you and no you cannot have a poppadum”.
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