Princessism

This Princess Poppy phase is interminable ...

I've been yearning for a bit of Milly Molly Mandy or My Naughty Little Sister - although at a party on Saturday night (40th! can't believe I've started going to 40ths!) a new acquaintance pointed out that they're equally trite and stereotyped. Maybe I just like them for the nostalgia - not just for my own childhood but for some imagined simpler time when things were more straightforward and mothers did proper mothering with baking and scrubbing and hair up in rollers.

It's all just a reaction to a run of late nights working and Guardian front pages about the rotten lot of modern woman. Not to mention the new Princess Poppy I brought home from work - which features gladiator sandals and a routine that Gina Ford would be proud of, all in the first chapter.

Sometimes I wish we'd stop moaning though. Women. Are we never going to be happy? We just put so much pressure on ourselves to do it all and be perfect. Maybe we should start trying to have more fun instead.

Don't want to undermine all those decades of feminism or anything but I'm starting to wonder if it isn't time for a bit of princessism. I'm going to take a leaf out of Poppy's book: adopt the Pollyanna attitude to life. Sulk a little when I don't get what I want, but know that in the end things will turn out my way. Oh, and have attentive adults making sure that they do.

Maybe it's time to move on to Roald Dahl ...