Dear Diary,
Let it be known: my butt is far too precious to touch concrete. I am not a peasant. I am Reggie the Regal, and I demand a throne. A plush one. Or, in a pinch, a conveniently placed animal.
Today, I found the perfect solution: Hiro. Sheās soft, warm, and surprisingly compliant when I sit on her. She may call herself the queen, but letās be honestāIām the one sitting on the throne. Literally.
Itās almost sweater season, and Iāve noticed something deeply troubling: I donāt have a new sweater yet. This is an outrage. A king cannot be expected to brave the elements in sub-55-degree weather without proper royal attire. I shall protest. Loudly. And dramatically. Every time the door opens and the air is even slightly brisk, I will shiver like a leaf in a blizzard. Theyāll learn.
Until then, I shall continue to rule this kingdom from atop my subjects (or their backs), and await the arrival of my winter wardrobe.
With dignity and fluff,
King Reggie