The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen.

I have always been a Drama Queen. I mean, it's in my blood. When I was a kid, I thought my aunt was Lucy, from "Peanuts". No really. I did. She was so totally ... Lucy. And her aunt, my Aunt Flossie? Oh, man. And her mother, Gram? Take my word for it.

But now I'm all zen. This does not compute. I think the crown is passing.

The Girl and I were eating lunch the other day--and I had to sit next to her, mind you, not across from her but NEXT to her so that she could lean over now and then and grab my arm and rest her head on my shoulder and sigh with the most excruciatingly adorable sighs you've ever heard. Her imaginary friends (who are real friends from school but just aren't, you know, here) sat across from us. She looked up, looked at them, looked at me, and made these huge pouty lips, closed her eyes, and shook her head from side to side: "Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm, mmmm, mmmm!!!"

"Oh boy," I murmered. "SOMEbody's a Drama Queen."

Her eyes flew open. "NO Mama! I not Drama Queen. Dat's a bad guy."

"Ohhhh, I see," I laughed, running my fingers through her hair, "Drama Queen the Bad Guy."

"MAAAAMA! You're PUUULLLING MY HAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIR!!!!!!!!!"