Dear ten-year-old Princess,
We need to talk. It’s about Mr. Mustache.
Recently you found a yellow plastic figurine with an orange mustache, and you loved him instantly. You named him Mr. Mustache. (This was a lackluster choice, but fortunately, you will grow in your naming abilities—just ask Ms. Nancy Bobo and Babs.) You stashed Mr. Mustache into that green duffel bag you’ve been using as a backpack, a bag choice that kind of humiliates Grownup Princess when she thinks about it, but at least it’s better than the troll backpack you picked out in first grade and wore backwards all year when you realized no one liked trolls, including you.
Back to Mr. Mustache. You slipped him out of the green duffel bag during every carpool ride for weeks, “entertaining” the passengers with Mr. Mustache’s gruff voice and grouchy demeanor. Grownup Princess has been wondering why your friends tolerated this. Are they so kindhearted that they put up with your oddities with forced laughter and strained smiles? Or are they so dumb that they were actually entertained? Either way, it’s time to evaluate your friendships.
Whether they are fakers or idiots, they did not deserve to endure that strange emotional breakdown in the car that day. You remember. You were wearing that faded orange puff coat with purple trim—the one you like to hook on the door in the car and use to pretend you are working at a Laundromat? (By the way, that doesn't make any sense.) Puff-coated and exhausted, you were so overwhelmed by all the Mr. Mustache-ing that when your friends requested he emerge from the green duffel to amuse them, you completely snapped. “I AM A PERSON AND I CAN’T BE FUNNY ALL THE TIME! SOMETIMES I AM SAD OR MAD!” you shouted hoarsely through streams of tears. “Y’all don’t even like me,” you sniffed. “You only like Mr. Mustache.”
The rest of the car ride was awkward. No one mentioned Mr. Mustache ever again, and as an act of shame and melodramatics you shoved him under your bed with that Corrie Ten Boom book that we will not discuss as it will send you into hysterics.
You might as well know that when Grownup Princess recently remembered the Mr. Mustache incident, she found a hard surface and pounded her head into it.
Bottomline, let’s steer clear of figurines, duffel bags, and orange puff coats for a while. Also, you currently think the word “pervert” is a synonym for “idiot” or “dummy,” and it is not. That may explain some of the strange looks you’ve been getting. Maybe just avoid name-calling in general, although I understand that the fifth grade is pretty cutthroat. Also you may want to stop telling people that your glasses are Nintendo brand.
The good news is that you are smart and sweet, and all things considered, it’s okay if you are a little weird.