Enough about Groot already!

The One went to see Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 yesterday, and she hasn't stopped talking about Baby Groot since she came home.

It's all "blah blah Baby Groot" this and "blah blah so cute I can't even stand it" that.

From what I understand, this Groot creature is some kind of anthropomorphic tree. The palace is surrounded by trees – many of them recently planted – and I wouldn't call any of them "cute."

Groot can't possibly be as cute as a cat. As demonstrated here.

Baby Groot vs. Kitten

And I will remind you that the kitten in the above photo (the kitten is the one on the right) is nowhere near as adorable as I am. So clearly, if this kitten is cuter than Baby Groot, I am infinitely better than that stupid miniature tree.

So why isn't the One wandering around chattering about how cute I am?

Don't just wander off. That's a serious question!

I'm surrounded by incompetence.

As you may have noticed, the One did not update my blog yesterday after I explicitly told her there would be consequences for such insubordination. And consequences there were.

I spend the entire night sleeping on the ottoman downstairs. That's right. The One's privileges are being revoked, starting with the honor of my presence on her bed while she sleeps.

Everyone knows that the safest place in the world to sleep is next to the queen. This is because queens are always protected by a phalanx (Yes, Nick, that's a word. Honestly, you'd think his royal education would have given him a better vocabulary. I blame his tutors. They spent far more time petting him and telling him he was adorable than teaching him anything. I had them all beheaded once I was in power.) of guards, and those guards are obviously most vigilant when the queen is sleeping.

The safest spot in the palace is wherever I am.

The One slept last night unprotected from assassins, unruly rodents, ninjas, poison, terrorists, tornadoes, and all the other threats I am constantly besieged by. She was not, however, safe from Katherine sleeping on her head or cows walking on her in the middle of the night.

My swift punishment worked. She is penitent and compliant this morning.

Unfortunately, she is also possessed of the worst memory of any human I've ever met. I know she likes to multitask, so I figured I'd do her a favor and dictated an entire blog entry to her while she was in the shower. It was one of the most brilliant blog entries I've ever written, filled with groundbreaking revelations, wit, and the kind of royal perfection only I am capable of.

Then she got out of the shower, spent about fifty times longer than is ever necessary getting ready, fed me and Nick (plus my servants and the cow), made some lists (Why that was necessary, I have no idea. I tell her what I need her to do when I need her to do it.), ate some applesauce, opened all the windows in the house, let Fairbanks outside (I am totally not joking – she seriously did all this stuff while I sat on the ottoman and glared at her!), and finally sat down at her computer to . . . you guessed it! Admit she had forgotten everything I said while she was in the shower and ask me to repeat it!

Well, I am certainly not about to repeat everything I said while she was showering and – apparently – not listening! What does she think I am? An echo?

So, I want to make it clear that the One's faulty memory is the reason you are not basking in my brilliance at this moment. You are missing some of the most insightful commentary you'll ever be privileged to absorb – the kind of profundity that could change your life forever – because the One couldn't be bothered to pay attention while in the shower.

Exactly.

How did we end up here?

When it came time to seek out a new palace, Nick and I each put together a list of the qualities we required in a new ambassador/caretaker.

Here is my list:

• Fashionable and polished, as is befitting of a representative for the queen and royal family
• A confident public speaker and diplomatic communicator
• Has great respect for the long-standing traditions of the royal house
• Completely lacking in ego; willing to put aside everything in service to the crown 
• An excellent strategist with experience quelling uprisings of all kinds
• A skilled brushist

Here is Nick's list:

• Nice

It has become clear to me that something went terribly wrong during the interview process. 

Glorious new era, my fluffy royal tail

Do you see how long it's been since the One wrote down what I had to say?

I know what you've been thinking.

At first, you were ecstatic, knowing that I would soon be bestowing my wisdom upon you daily.

"Finally!" you thought, "The One can't possibly have anything to distract her from serving the queen now!"

During the first few days of silence, you probably gave the One a pass, figuring she was resting up after her job-losing ordeal. But seriously. How much energy does it take to lose something? My stupid brother Nick lost his tail, and that took no effort whatsoever!

Now almost a year has passed.

I understand if you were concerned. I know my most loyal subjects were sick with worry. "Why hasn't Her Royal Magnificence updated her blog in so long?" you undoubtedly thought. "Is she ill, perhaps? Has her kingdom been taken over by miscreant rodents? Is she trapped in a dungeon somewhere awaiting rescue?"

With the One at my beck and call all day, every day, my blog should have been filled with my brilliant insights.

But was it?

No, it was not.

She did do a lot of other things that demonstrated how little she respects me and my title, however.

For example. Instead of remaining at the palace and waiting on me, which is her duty, she went out looking for her job! She finally ended up finding one - not the one she originally lost, but a new one that resembled the old one but wasn't as good. Why she was stupid enough to accept such a poor substitute, I have no idea.

She then managed to lose THAT job after only a couple of months. Obviously, she subconsciously doesn't want a job, or she wouldn't keep misplacing them.

Here is a list of other things the One has been doing that weren't updating my blog:

Watching countless hours of entertainment on Netflix. And when I say "countless," I mean more than the highest number you can count to. Whatever that number is, she watches more hours of Netflix. To be fair, she does have pretty good taste in shows, so I often watch with her. And her hands are generally idle during Netflix time, so I do get petted and brushed regularly. But does my blog get updated? Not even a little bit.

Paying attention to my servants and the cow. This activity is not only a waste of time, it's practically treason. And, honestly, doesn't she know livestock has a purpose, and it is not being brushed or played with? If she updated my blog regularly, she would know because I would share my infinite knowledge on the subject with my readers, and by proxy, her.

Playing Portal. I don't even need to comment on this. Thinking with portals is the least useful skill there is. Nobody has ever been in an important meeting or war council and asked, "Who here can think with portals?" If they did, though, the One could raise her hand and be like, "Me! Me! Pick me!" And then they'd tell her, "You can leave. We were just weeding out the idiots." And she would hang her head and come back to the palace, where she would probably find some other excuse not to update my blog.

Doing "temp" and "contract" work. These aren't real jobs like the ones she keeps losing. They're just a reasons to leave the house and not update my blog.

Letting Katherine sleep on her head. I suppose if she's sleeping, she probably can't update my blog anyway, but still. Katherine is the worst. I don't let her near my head, and nobody else should either.

There are more. Like, for example, right now she claims she has to "get ready for bed." "Getting ready for bed" is code for "change clothes and watch Netflix on the upstairs TV instead of the downstairs TV."

If she doesn't update my blog every day this week, I'm going to put one of those mice Fairbanks sneaks into the house in her shoe. Or maybe her hair. A mouse will find its way into something, that's a guarantee.