So here’s the thing about this Princess Race 2024 thing I stumbled into. Thought it’d be fun, right? Wrong. Way more chaos than I signed up for. But hey, I did it anyway. Here’s how it all went down, step by messy step.
Just Figured I’d Wing It
First off, I saw this flyer downtown. Big pink glitter letters shouting “PRINCESS RACE 2024!” Had zero clue what it actually meant. My buddy Dave slapped me on the back and yelled, “Dude, you gotta do it! Sounds hilarious!” So I shrugged and scribbled my name on some clipboard. Biggest mistake ever. Should’ve asked questions first.
The Costume Nightmare
Got this email a week later saying I needed a “principled princess persona” or whatever. Panicked. Rushed to the thrift store. Found: one puffy pink dress (two sizes too small), a dusty tiara, and plastic heels from 2003. Tried them on. Could barely breathe. Forgot that princesses probably don’t wear worn-out sneakers under ballgowns. But hey, it was that or bail. I squeezed into the dress.
Stuff I had to haul:
- A plastic wand (half broken)
- A basket for “royal snacks” (packed stale chips)
- Those awful heels
Already sweating. And the race hadn’t even started.
Race Day Disaster Zone
Showed up at the park. Holy glitter bombs. Dozens of people dressed like cartoon royalty tripping over their skirts. Organizer lady blew a whistle. “Ready, Princesses? RUN!” Took off like a herd of sparkly turtles. Heels sank into the grass immediately. Tripped. Wand snapped clean in half. Someone dressed as Cinderella kicked my basket by accident. Chips flew everywhere.
Tried sprinting? More like shuffling. Dress bunched up around my knees. Sweating buckets. Realized halfway this wasn’t about speed. Oh no. It was “royal obstacle course hell.” Had to:
- Balance a rubber scepter on my head while limping
- Sing “Let It Go” while hopping through hoops
- Pose gracefully before some dude with a camera (smiled like a terrified chipmunk)
Crossing the Sparkle Finish Line
Finally saw that stupid pink ribbon. Dragged myself over it, crown crooked, dress ripped at the seam. Dave was howling with laughter. Organizer handed me a cheap plastic trophy with half the glitter peeling off. Took one wobbly step. Plastic heel snapped clean off. Hobbled back to the car feeling like I’d fought a disco tornado.
Lessons? Yeah, I Got Some
Why’d I do this? Honestly? Pride. Stubbornness. And maybe a little FOMO. Learned real quick that princesses don’t jog gracefully. They wobble. Also learned thrift-store heels = medieval torture devices. Would I do it again? Absolutely not. Unless you’re under seven years old or just really like pain, find something else to make you feel special. Maybe baking cookies? Or petting a cat? Anything that doesn’t involve limping for three days after. My cat hissed at the ruined tiara, by the way. Wise animal.
