“Hear Ye, Hear Yeee,” squealed the court herald. He wore a folded newspaper hat. In his five year old imagination this was how the “herald” would dress.

“The Queen. Wait no. Good people of the Kingdom,” he stopped and looked to the “castle.” A large cardboard box had been dragged into the yard. The open end covered with a beach towel as the “royal curtain.”

Her Majesty’s furious face appeared from the corner of the bea-, ahem, Royal Curtain. The Herald was about to receive a major tongue lashing. (The last one Queen issued sent the “King” crying to his mommy.)

“Hewald,” she scolded wobbling to him on her glittery pink plastic heels. “Maybe, I’ll demote you to jestah. You idiot. I give you one simple cweed. And you can’t get it wight!”

Herald snatched off his hat and threw it to the ground, “I quit. I don’t want to be Herald. I want to be King!” Queen fluttered her lashes, “You want to be my husband?”

Queen listened to his screams as he fled; ending abruptly with the slamming of a door.