I was never good at playing house as a kid. I never wanted to be the mother or the child; I wanted to stab things with a sword or either cast or break magic spells. Asking me to play house was equivalent to asking me to sit and pout in the corner.
I feel a bit different, now–I enjoy cooking, cleaning, gardening. I like making fancy little sandwiches and eating them daintily. One of my favorite things to do on vacation is go out for afternoon tea, in part because I like tea and in part because I like the ceremony of it, the fancy dishes, the feeling that I’m doing something that’s foreign to me.
Because it all still feels like play. It’s not the environment I grew up in; it’s somebody else’s upscale upbringing, and they probably know the names of each little pastry. That’s fine–it loses none of the magic for me, even if I’m just playing pretend.
Anyway, here’s a drabble.
(v.) from English mimp, a prim woman
To behave in an overly prim fashion.
They’d played together as children, wrestling in the dusty forgotten corners of the castle. But once they reached a certain age, it stopped—suddenly Avery was busy with swords and shields while Marina was forced into dresses and tea parties, trying not to drip marmalade on her taffeta.
Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if Marina hadn’t known she was always the better fighter, but it certainly would have been better had Avery not taken to mocking her, finger extended daintily from his teacup.
Taffeta or no, she could still get him with a punch to those pursing lips.