Elsa Doesn’t Give A Fuck

I booked an Elsa party at a swanky hotel on manhattan beach. Face painting and balloons, nbd.

I hadn’t looked at the costume until I parked and opened my trunk.

The owner would wrap the costumes in dirty garbage bags tied with balloons with a paper plate with our names written on them in crayon.

I take out the dress, which was 8 sizes too big, no exaggeration, and a wig so ratty and misshapen I thought it had just recently passed away. I took a moment to mourn for the wigs family, then violently wrestled it onto my head. It didn’t quite fit and kept falling back, making it look like I had an extra head on my head that I was trying to keep a secret.

I walk into the gig. A restaurant and bar filled with nothing but adults. I’m confused.

I go to the managers office and ask if I’m in the right place. He looks up, then up a little more at my second heads hair, then down at my blue, sparkly whales sleeping bag I’m wearing that I’ve tied together in the back like back fat.
“Uh, yup.”

“Okay, it’s just I usually do kids birthday parties, Will there be any kids here at any point? I brought face paint.”

“I don’t know. Sometimes people bring their kids to the restaurant for dinner…”

There was a long pause and he trailed off like there was more to the story. I sat and listened for the thought to continue. When it didn’t after several uncomfortable moments, I said:

“Sweet.”

He nodded without blinking, then went back to his computer. I stood there for another couple moments, hoping there was a blip in the matrix and I would get back on track and get some insight to what I was supposed to be doing, but nope. He never looked back up at me again. Legend states that if you stand really quietly in that hallway of that fancy hotel even to this day, and turn your eye slightly to the corner of the room, you can still hear that hotel manager ignoring me.

I walked into the restaurant with my baggy, homeless scented dress trailing a good 16 yards behind me, tripping every couple of feet. I scanned the room desperately for kids. None.

Suddenly a human man dressed as a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle comes up to me and yells “Hi Princess Elsa!!”

I jump because what the fuck?!!

“Hi, Donatello?”

“Yeah! So what have you been up to at the castle since everything thawed?” He asked.

I take a second to scan our immediate vicinity. There aren’t any kids around us to create an illusion for, let alone any other human people.

“Uh, fine. So, do you do these gigs often or what? It’s so weird there aren’t any kids here, right?!”

“Princess Elsa, would you like to sing a song with me?”

“What?”

“A song! Like, Would You Like To Build A Snowman? or Let it Snow? Wouldn’t that be so fun Princess?”

Am I getting Punk’d? Did they reboot that shitty show? Is Ashton here? Is his name REALLY Ashton?

“Ha, yeah. Uh, hey dude, there’s no one around, so we can just chill for a bit, you know?” I chuckle, praying to Jesus Christ that he’ll stop being so fucking weird.

He replies “Oh, Princess, something is wrong! You’re not being yourself! Did a wizard put an evil spell on you?”

“No! Are you being serious?! There’s no one here! You’re wearing a giant turtle face! You can stop it until a kid shows up!” I laugh a little, trying to not come off as a huge snatch.

The turtle takes a second. He’s gotten it. Thank God. I feel a twinge of guilt. I scolded a dude in a TURTLE COSTUME! I’m a monster. I smile sheepishly, getting ready to spout my apology. Then:

“Princess! What’s gotten into you?! It’s as if you don’t have a care in the world for anyone else’s feelings! That cold must have frozen your heart!”

I stare at him. I try to find the white of his bulbous, felt covered eyes. I can see the person in that huge head. Brown eyes. They blink a lot while looking back into mine. I hold his gaze.

“Donatello, that’s exactly right. The cold has frozen my heart. I guess you could say that Elsa officially doesn’t give a fuck.”.

Donatello gasps.

I wait.

Still, no kids.

I turn and walk away from the mutant turtle freak. And I realize it’s true.

Elsa doesn’t give a fuck.

 

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