As we made our way to the Disneyland castle, we passed some blocks of enormous cabinets that consist entirely of large drawers, and are as tall as buildings. Some cabinets are made of mahogany, ebony, or cherry; others are of lesser woods like oak and maple; finally some are made with plywood, hapazardly nailed together.
"I live there," the dwarf said with pride, pointing to a handsome mahogany one. "In the fifth drawer."
"You live in a drawer?" I asked. That seemed a little creepy, kind of like a morgue, with bodies in drawers.
"Yes! I am a drawf, after all," he said.
Ah. Drawves are dwarves that live in drawers. Makes sense when you think about it. Or maybe I'm going insane from being in Lalaland for too long.
"The drawves of the highest class, such as I...was," my drawf said with melancholy, "belong to the cabinet of the Head of the country. We are advisors of the ruler, and his or her executives. President Bosh's current cabinet lives in that ebony one. The mahogany one that I live in used to be the Queen's cabinet."
He looked so wistful that I said without thinking, "Perhaps it will be once again."
He beamed at me, which made me regret what I said. I cannot be the Queen of Lalaland. I can't. It is preposterous.
"Here we are," he said, as we reached the castle. He said to the guard gargoyle at the door, "Please announce Princess Sara Aleatoire to President Bosh."
Perhaps at this point I should explain my name. Sara/Sarah means princess, and Aleatoire is random in French. So there you go. Princess Random. A fitting name for an heir of Lalaland.
"Wait wait wait," I hissed at the drawf. "You announce me to him as Princess just like that? No alias? Didn't he banish me seventeen years ago precisely because I was royal? Supposedly." I added in time. I also tried to keep myself from imagining this whole French Revolution thing where my head gets guillotined.
The drawf seemed unconcerned. "But you are now eighteen. You are adult, and he cannot exile you as easily. You now have the power to challenge him."
I did not much relish the prospect of challenging a president, but the gargoyle had already belted out my name and title, and the great oaken door was swinging open.