The Biblio File May 2019 Essay: “The Queen Is Out.”

THE QUEEN IS OUT.

Every year for about ten years, when I’ve told people I’d be claiming the title of “Queen” on my birthday, wherein Ed does my bidding for an entire weekend, some smart aleck says, “Yeah? So what else is new?” or “And tell me a time you’re not?”

I’ve gotten used to these comments, and, during pre-birthday time this year, I graciously explained to the smart alecks, that, yes, I am generally comfortable stating my desires, and, yes, I do get my way from time to time, but Birthday Queendom is bigger and better than ordinary queendom. It’s ordinary queendom on crack! I mean, I can do whatever I want and I don’t have to lift a finger. 

But–And I know this falls under the heading of “Measliest First World Problem Ever”–being Queen for the weekend is not without its challenges.

For one thing, how is a Queen supposed to enjoy doing exactly what she wants, like, say, going to see Seattle Rep’s “Nina Simone: 4 Women”, when she knows the story is the kind that shakes and emotionally drains her faithful, sensitive servant? Queens are benevolent, right? And will the rest of the day even be fun if her servant is wiped out? Better to see a romcom, one the Queen and her servant will both enjoy and not fret over.

Same with meal preparation and cleanup. After the Queen’s servant preps, cooks, and serves the Queen something delectable, such as pork tenderloin and fruit salsa and grilled romaine with anchovies and Caesar dressing, is it permissible for a Queen to sit quietly and watch her servant clean up the messy kitchen, when the Queen knows his back hurts—I mean, hurts a lot? Is it Queenlike to jump up and help him? Queens can expend massive energy figuring this out.

And what if the Queen feels boring for not coming up with novel, exciting, queenly things to do, opting, instead, for walks in beautiful woods with waterfalls, and breakfasts and lunches and coffee at Valley restaurants, and afternoon naps and movies, and nights at home, listening to music. Ohmygod, I’m boring, the Queen is prone to think, as she combs through and discards listings of What’s Going On In Seattle This Weekend. I’m settling into placid routine, the Queen moans. Maintaining a Queenly image can be exhausting.

And, as far as the smart alecks go—Well, there is that little matter of Ed’s and my wedding vows. Ed had long told me he thought women were in charge anyway, and he hoped I’d rule him gently, so, at our wedding, right after “I promise to be your wife, your lover, and your friend,” I added, “and to rule you very gently.” I suppose that promise had a slight Queenly ring to it, which somewhat supports the smart alecks’ view.

Anyway, I’m not going to be Birthday Queen anymore. I’ll just be Ed’s everyday queen, who does pretty much what she always does, cranked up a bit for the occasion. I’ve learned that with great power comes great responsibility. Thanks, but no thanks. Queendom does not agree with me.

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