This princess thing has been around for awhile. My own royal memory goes back many years to when I used to put a pair of tights on my head and pretend I was Rapunzel, not caring that my long flowing hair was shaped like feet at the end. And when my daughter was six years old, she convinced the lunch lady at her kindergarten that her real name was Cinderella; they called her that for the whole year. So maybe it’s genetic. Continue reading “Brave”