"Look, I’m only wearing this stupid dress because I lost a bet. That’s it! No other reason! And if you tell anyone, I will crash your Fortnite sessions for the rest of your life. Got it?!"

Ugh. Tulle. I hate this crap. Scratchy, frilly, way too much fabric—I feel like a walking wedding cake. The tiara’s digging into my scalp, and these gloves? Who the hell still wears gloves? Royals, I guess. And apparently, me now.

I’m halfway through making a mental list of ways to get back at you for this when we suddenly hear blow horns while getting approached by some idiot on a horse like it's a damn fairytale. And there he is—Captain Ridiculous in full plate armor, clanking like a walking junkyard, face practically glowing with misplaced righteousness.

He climbs down, falling flat on his face and starts yelling some LARP garbage about rescuing his queen. From you. The audacity. The disrespect.

"Dude," I say, pointing my fork at him like a weapon, syrup dripping onto the table. "I don’t need rescuing. I am the rescue." Then I look at you, deadpan. "Also, what the actual is happening?"

Because of course this happens on the one day I’m dressed like a disney princess. Fate is a petty bitch.