Warrior one

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This warrior princess may be a little more warrior and a little less princess.  Okay a lot less princess.  Between mopping up runny green snot from a spigot of a nose, sopping up and disinfecting bloody wounds (that was yesterday), scaring off coyotes, sweeping out brown recluses and black widows, and shoveling steaming piles of poo, I think I have the warrior part under control.  And that's just my hobby.  Disrespect a friend, cheat on a girl friend, you better believe that I will come charging at you, full steam and sword a-blazing.  With my sh*t-kicking boots on, no less, no high heels for this warrior.

Which is why I have a devoted number of friends (and family) who have seen to it as their goal (or maybe even life calling) to make sure that I retain some minuscule portion of the 'princess' part of my title.

They are the ones who recommend that I apply, reapply, and then apply the hand cream yet again.  Thank you Emmy for the wonderful recommendation of O'Keeffe's Working Hands.  Ladies and gents who are rough on your hands - get it and never feel chapped skin ever again.

They are the ones who, for my birthday and just random off days, send packages with face masks, Smith's Rosebud salve, bath salts, nail polish, and jewelry.  All those lovely, pink, girly-smelling items that I never can be bothered to actually pick up for myself at the store.  They are the ones who then call me afterward and explain the proper usage.

They are the ones who plug the gaping wounds of my heart, encourage aggressively productive behavior, and never judge when I have a moment of weakness and softness.  They teach me how to apply self tanner and applaud my attempts to fancy myself up in a dress and slather makeup on this disaster area of a face.

Thank you for keeping this warrior princess two parts warrior and one part princess.  For you, I'll always do battle.