"The Paper Bag Princess"

“Paper bag princess,” I could barely get the words out I was giggling so hard. On the screen, a boy with curly hair and dimples laughed along with me. “I’ve never heard of that,” he says. “It’s about a girl and a dragon and well, she’s in a paper bag,” I tell him. “That does not sound like a very good storybook in my opinion,” he says back to me. Still playful I retort, “Hey a better favorite than Ferdinand the Bull! That’s so basic.” He rolls his eyes, used to my antics at this point. I’m realizing I’m not doing the book any justice, so I quickly say, “Wait here.” I’m not sure where he would go. We’re in our nightly ritual, Facetiming after a global pandemic cut our relationship short. That particular night, I was having a hard time falling asleep, not that I was trying too hard considering we had been facetiming for nearly an hour. He and I are were talking about bedtime stories, which sparked the conversation of our favorite books growing up. Obviously not to be outdone by his love of the dear little gentle bull Ferdinand, I was convinced to share with him my favorite story of a fearless little princess.

I raced down my hallway to my brother and I’s old playroom. Once a shrine to Polly Pockets and Legos, it now stands borderline desolate with a few mementos we couldn’t part with. I knew exactly where the old stack of storybooks was. Under the Harry Potter series and some Angelina Ballerina’s, I found it. My copy of The Paper Bag Princess. I practically jogged back to my room where the boy sat waiting. “Ok settle in for the best story of all time.” He listened, eyes amused, as set us up for story time. Opening the book to show the phone propped on pillows, I began retelling the story I had heard so many times. I tried to get the voices just right, from the fearless little girl to the angry dragon to the poupous prince. The book was shorter than I remembered from my bedtime stories as a child, but as I read along, I realized I still remembered it nearly word for word.

To give a brief summary, there is a beautiful princess named Elizabeth. Elizabeth lives in a castle and is engaged to marry a prince. However, a dragon storms her castle, burns all her clothes, and carries off her love, Prince Ronald. Rather than being scared, Elizabeth sets her mind to getting her things back. She finds a paper bag, puts it on, and then stomps her way to the dragon’s lair. There sits the dragon, full from eating the entire castle. Elizabeth then flatters the dragon, convincing him to show the princess just how fearless and fast he is. The dragon falls for his own ego, eventually falling into a deep deep sleep after burning down forests and racing across the earth. Elizabeth rescues Prince Ronald with nothing but a paper bag dress and her wit. However, Prince Ronald rejects her because she doesn’t look like a princess anymore! Rather than being upset about it, she simply replies, “You look like real prince, but you’re a bum!” and dances into the sunset. Talk about a comeback!

I don’t remember the first time reading the story. I do remember I first loved it because the princess’s name is Elizabeth. My name is Elizabeth, and as a child with no concept of the commonality of names, I felt it was written just for me. The princess even looked like me! (Meaning we were both blonde, so to me we were twins). Second, I loved it because she was smart. Sure, she wanted to marry boring ole Prince Ronald in the beginning, but she outsmarted a dragon! She was smart and sassy and capable. I loved clothes and dressing up and pretty things when I was little. I still do. That doesn’t mean I was any less brave or capable or smart than if I didn’t. I couldn’t articulate the full extent of my burgeoning feminism at the mere age of 8, so I settled for having a favorite book that did it for me. It wasn’t until I read it aloud over Facetime some night mid-COVID that I realized just how much of an impact the short little story had on me.

I finally finish the book and look at the boy expectantly. “Right,” I encourage him, “it’s a good one.” Whether to make me happy or to finally shut me up, he agrees, “Okay it is a pretty good one.”