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can’t see how I resemble his mother. She looks like a brunette Dr. Ruth Westheimer, only slightly shorter and with more moles on her face.
    Oh, well.
    Tina and I hung up after promising each other we weren’t going to think about the men in our lives who were bothering us—in her case, her ex, and in mine, my current boyfriend and my father—anymore.
    But that’s pretty much all I’ve done since.
    I must have gotten a little sleep, though, because I did have a dream earlier that I was asked by Kate, Duchess of Cambridge, to have lunch, so she could give me tips on how to handle the stress of being a modern-day princess (something I am obviously still not handling well, even after a decade of practice).
    But when Kate greeted me at the door, she told me she had no time to talk to me about princess stuff, because she had a date with Bruce Willis. So she left me alone in Buckingham Palace with Prince George!
    So I baked a cake for him, then helped him eat it.
    Three things for which I feel grateful:
    1.   Tina Hakim Baba.
    2.   My noble ancestresses.
    3.   Cake.

CHAPTER 5
    9:15 a.m., Thursday, April 30
    Third-Floor Apartment
    Consulate General of Genovia
    New York City
    I can’t believe this.
    I looked out the window this morning because the paps seemed a bit louder than usual. I expected to see them playing some kind of drinking game (per usual) but instead I saw protesters !
    Not many, but enough. They’re holding signs protesting my dad (and me, too).
    I called Dominique right away and she said (in her adorable French accent), “I know, I know, your ’ighness. Don’t worry, we are on it.”
    (Dominique has a hard time pronouncing the letter H, which is silent in French, so asking her things like the name of “that boy wizard” is one of my favorite pastimes whenever I happen to be stuck in traffic with her. “You mean ’airy Pottair, Princess?” she always asks, excitedly. “’airy Pottair, ’oo went to ’ogwarts?” Juvenile, but always entertaining.)
    â€œOn it?” I asked. “How are you ‘on it’?”
    â€œOh, we ’ave a few ideas . . .”
    â€œLike what? Should we hold a press conference? Do you want me to issue a public statement? What?”
    â€œNo, no, nothing like that. It’s better that we just ignore them for now.”
    â€œThat’s what you said about the paparazzi, but they haven’t gone away in two weeks.”
    â€œI know, but don’t worry. It’s only a ploy by your father’s opponent to get media attention.”
    Oh, right. Of course.
    What do Genovians have to complain about, anyway? Genovia has the lowest unemployment, violence, and poverty rate in the world (zero percent), and also the loveliest median year-round temperature (seventy-five degrees), being situated as it is so idyllically on the Riviera. Genovians pay no personal income tax, and business taxes are among the lowest in the European Union.
    Even Genovia’s royal family is self-supported (unlike the UK’s, which is financed by public money). According to Rate the Royals, I have a personal net worth of a hundred million dollars.
    HA! Where do these websites get this stuff?
    â€¢Â Â Â  Note to self: Well, of course, I probably do have a personal net worth of that much, but only if you count things like medieval-era jewel-encrusted scepters, which you can’t exactly sell on eBay.
    So if Cousin Ivan is going to have a chance of beating my dad for prime minister in this next election, he has to do something to make people believe things in Genovia aren’t all that great.
    So why not pay a bunch of lame Genovian expats to stand outside its consulate in New York holding signs making a big deal out of super tiny issues, like allowing cruise ships in, keeping GMOs out, and complaining about that op-ed piece I wrote the other week for the Wall Street