There is one day every April that I like to call “Princess Day.” It’s the one day a year when the universe tries to explain that it doesn’t hate me, and the annoying tree above our driveway spits something other than seed-studded bird poop on my car. It’s “Princess Day,” and this year it was ruined.
I encountered “Princess Day” my first April in our new home. It was a warm late April morning as I sauntered toward my car for an early band practice. The birds sang, a glassy sheen spread over the lawn, and my favorite heels were decorated with sticky flower pedals and grass clippings. Then I saw my car.
Even as I moved toward it, the light breeze continued to shower a faint spray of tiny tree pedals over me as though I were royal fairy bridesmaid #3 for the fairy queen’s spring wedding. I raised my hands to the sky and did a slow twirl with an angelic smile. Ok, I didn’t, but in retrospect I should have done that. Especially if neighbors were watching. That would have been awesome. Anyway, I didn’t, because I was too shocked by my newly christened pink flower car (and annoyed at the grass and flower crap on my shoes.)
That’s just the lead-up to princess day. The quintessential moment, however, when all your dreams come true and the universe grins back, is when I back my car out of the driveway and put it in gear. A quick glance in my rearview mirror reveals a giant cloud of ethereal magic pedals sweeping off my car and floating in a breathtaking cloud over the street. A battalion of wedding planners couldn’t orchestrate a more fantastical moment, and for a brief second I don’t dislike nature. Convincing me to like nature: that, my friends, is Princess Day. It happens every April. And it always makes me smile.
This year, it rained. Hard. No pink flower wonderland, no climactic gear shift cloud, no royal fairy weddings, just gooey pink streaks on my windshield and irreparable damage to my shoes.
It’s official. The universe hates me.