Rosey was in fine bubbly form this morning, going on about the King and how he was good and
(I didn't catch all of it. I was too busy with my snout in the coffee mug)
and wait a minute? Where on earth was she getting this King business?
Honey, I tried to explain, it's the Queen. Her husband is the Prince.
No, she said, dragging out the milk container, it's the King. I saw him on tv.
I took a deep breath, ready to launch into my (lacking) knowledge of how the British monarchy impacts Canada, (was there a princess-Barbie angle I could use here?) and she rushed on
And he's magic, too! Magically delicious!
Damn Bear for bringing home the sugared cereals and unleashing them so early in the morning.