The Princess and the “P”
The poor, pretty princess pranced toward the porch, the pouring rain pelting her pouf. Pounding on the portico, she patiently pondered her predicament.
“Perry!” proclaimed a pompous plebian. “Prop open the portal, a princess approaches!”
“Poppycock!” pronounced Priscilla the Ponderous. “Present the peasant promptly!”
Princess Penelope processed past the palace proscenium and presented herself to Priscilla, all pooped out. “Please,” she pleaded. “I am Princess Penelope. Present me a place to plop prior to passing out!”
Priscilla the Ponderous professed a pretense. “Portraying a Princess will procure a punishment! To the penitentiary!”
Peter Piper, the Prince of Perriwinkle, paused by the palace portcullis, peering puzzled at Penelope and Priscilla. “Papa! A princess!”
“Priscilla!” pattered Percival the Portly, Peter’s pater. “Prevent a political panoply! Primogeniture procedure is clear. Implement the policy!” Peter’s pater patted Peter’s pate.
Pouting, Priscilla pondered. “Problem solved! Procure a pea!” she proclaimed. “Pile the puffy mattresses parallel and Penelope the Pretender can prove her princess-ness.”
Princess Penelope prostrated herself atop the puffy pile, pulling the purple quilt to her palsied chin. Her prone position prickled, however. “This patch has a painful poiniard pointed,” she pouted.
“Pampered pansy,” muttered Priscilla. “Panics too precipitously.”
“Pardon, Queen Priscilla, but this parallel pile of parasitical pads punishes my pelvis.”
“Do you intend to perpetuate this impersonation?” persisted Priscilla.
“Princesses shouldn’t be persecuted,” pleaded Penelope, “this pernicious pile is perilous!”
“Papa,” petitioned Prince Peter, “My princess perspires. Persuade mama to put a stop to her punishing pursuit!”
“Priscilla!” proclaimed Percival the Portly. “Prepare! This princess passes! This pastime proves her percentage of imperial blood.”
Persuaded, Queen Priscilla pleasantly picked the purloined pea from between the puffy pads, presenting it to Princess Penelope.
“No wonder my posterior purpled!” the Princess pronounced.
Her perfect proportions captivated Prince Peter. “My pater, please marry us presently!”
“Pause!” panted Penelope. “Perhaps Prince Peter is not my preference! Picking a partner is a profound and thought-provoking proceeding.”
“Penelope,” persuaded Peter, stooping to propose. “Please permit me to place a ring on your finger.”
Penelope complied and provided her permission, presenting her hand to Peter. He produced a ring, placing it on her finger in the presence of the palace porters, his mater and pater and a powerful pontiff.
Peter and Penelope postponed the pre-nup and post-nuptially presently populated the palace with puny princesses and princes.
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