The Emperor’s Bad Day

Last Thursday, something freakish happened; something that had never happened before in the history of our tiny kingdom.

The Emperor stopped making demands.

I know.
If you’ve ever met this pint-sized tyrant, it’s hard to fathom.
But its true.

It all went down right after the Emperor’s royal escort (known only as “Dada”) dropped him off in his bedroom chamber. We–the ever faithful servants–were at our usual posts, crouched on the starting blocks, waiting for his first command.

Would he cry out for a bottle?
A diaper change?
A new set of clothes?
His musical laptop?

We waited in anticipation.

(Silence)

The Emperor stared back at us, unusually quiet. Unusually contented. He nestled his head back into the pillow and gazed ahead, motionless.

It was as if he was a different ruler altogether.
A kind, sympathetic ruler who would never be excessively demanding of his subjects.

There was only one possible explanation.
He was sick.

I performed an important medical test to be sure.
“The itsy, bitsy spider went up the water spout…”

This is the Emperor’s favorite form of entertainment.
He’s asked me to assemble an Itsy-Bitsy Royal Choir who will be available to sing it on command.
But today, on this freakishly unusual day, even the Itsy Bitsy Spider had lost its power.

No smile when the spider reached the top of the water spout.
No hysterical laughter when the rain washed the spider out. (He’s something of a sadist when it comes to this tiny arachnoid).

(Silence)

This is when I, being the most responsible of all the servants (in my own estimation) began to panic on behalf of the kingdom. I promptly ushered the Emperor to the chariot, sure he had contracted Pneumonia, Swine Flu, Strep, Bronchitis and three different kinds of Malaria since he woke up that morning.

When I arrived at the royal doctors, there were several other members of royalty there with their corresponding servants. The diagnosis was relatively simple: the Emperor would need extra royal baths and doses of cherry-flavored-liquid brew administered via eye-dropper.

And he would be out of commission for a few days.

I thought maybe, in his leave of absence, he’d appoint me ruler in his place.

Unfortunately, he went with our manic Jack Russell terrier, Wrigley, instead.
Maybe next time.

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