Friendzone Frankie

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in the public eye garners respect, if not in direct correlation to her level of attractiveness, then on a sort of bell curve.

In other words, in real terms, she daren't appear too pretty, nor too ugly. She must be precisely the right level of sexy. To be blunt: if her hair be red, she better raise her neckline.

Perhaps this is why Queen Elizabeth's neckline rose all the way to her throat, and flared outward. If it shouldn't put a writer at risk of hanging, I might have described her as a bird who swallowed a plate. I do not, however, dare any such thing.

The Queen ruled with wicked wit and iron will, and she had wit enough to know that her image was important. It shouldn't be, and with all her good sense, she could wish it weren't, but it was.

Therefore, when her youthful beauty began to fade, she remedied it every which way. She made good use of portrait angles, lighting, and paint. (The paint itself cunningly lead-based, surely a wise move that could only enhance her appearance.)

One who only knew her from her pictures (in other words, most people) might be forgiven for believing her to be a vampire. A writer might even be tempted to write a story along those very lines, but surely that's a tale for another day.

Not enough, a rousing speech about her innards being as good as a King's. A portrait must be commissioned to solidify her, well, her image. The Armada Portrait garnered many likes. Not least, perhaps, because it smoothed out any wrinkles, and had many artefacts pertaining to her queenliness and, not to put to fine a point on it, virginity.

When the French prince Francis, Duke of Anjou, first saw Elizabeth’s portraits, he was captivated by her beauty. Upon meeting her, as the kids say, eye are ell, he turned to his good friend Jean and said,

"bro, she looketh nothing like her picture tho"

Charmed regardless by her intellect, charisma, and political acumen, he courted her, although they never married.

The Queen knew what's what, and left him, languishing, in the friendzone.

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Word count: 366

(NB. This excludes the title, subtitle, and author's note.)

Submitted on Sunday 3rd November at 23:25

Quick Author's Note

A Year of Stories: I'm writing (and submitting, here) a story every day this year. This continues my 308 (!!!) daily micro-fiction story streak since 1st January.

ONLY FIFTY-EIGHT DAYS TO GO!!!!!

Please consider lending your support to the other creators on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They're putting out excellent content every day!

Rachel Deeming

Gerard DiLeo

Disclaimer: No, I don't believe the "friendzone" is a real thing Call it poetic license, call it subverting thingummiejigs, call it being bloody-minded.

Thank you

Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and I am extremely grateful for your ongoing support.

Thank you to those who leave feedback/comments.

I am making excellent headway catching up on reads. Where I'm already up to date with all someone's stories, I read someone else's in lieu!

If you enjoyed this one, the very best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another!

Here is one in a similar vein:

Or, if you don't have time for that nonsense, this one will only take you a minute:

Here's my latest dollar challenge. I think you might love it:

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Thank you again!