Free The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot Page A

Broadway show at a minute’s notice on a Saturday night."
    He was just feeling left out because Mom had taken off on another date with Mr. Gianini. She wanted to cancel on him, given all the upheaval that has occurred in my life over the past twenty-four hours, but I totally made her go because I could see her lips getting smaller and smaller the more time she spent with Dad. Mom’s lips only get small when she’s trying to keep herself from saying something, and I think what she wanted to say to my dad was "Get out! Go back to your hotel! You’re paying six hundred dollars a night for that suite! Can’t you go stay in it?"
    My dad drives my mom completely insane because he’s always going around, digging her bank statements out from the big salad bowl where she throws all our mail, and trying to tell her how much she would save in interest if she would just transfer funds out of her checking account and into a Roth IRA.
    So even though she felt like she should stay home, I knew if she did she’d explode, so I said go, please go, and that Dad and I would discuss what it’s like to govern a small principality in today’s economic market. Only when Mom came out in her datewear, which included this totally hot black minidress from Victoria’s Secret (my mom hates shopping, so she buys all her clothes from catalogs while she’s soaking in the tub after a long day of painting), my dad started to choke on this ice cube. I guess he had never seen my mom in a minidress before—back in college, when they were going out, all she ever wore were overalls, like me—because he drank down his scotch and soda really fast and then said, " That’s what you’re wearing?" which made my mom go, "What’s wrong with it?" and look at herself all worriedly in the mirror.
    She looked totally fine; in fact, she looked much better than she usually did, which I guess was the problem. I mean, it sounds weird to admit, but my mom can be a total Betty when she puts her mind to it. I can only wish that someday I’ll be as pretty as my mom. I mean, she doesn’t have Yield sign hair or a flat chest or size-ten shoes. She is way hot, as far as moms go.
    Then the buzzer rang and Mom ran out because she didn’t want Mr. Gianini to come up and meet her ex, the prince of Genovia. Which was understandable, since he was still choking and looked sort of funny. I mean, he looked like a red-faced bald man in a cashmere sweater coughing up a lung. I mean, I would have been embarrassed to admit I had ever had sex with him, if I were her.
    Anyway, it was good for me that she didn’t buzz Mr. Gianini up, because I didn’t want him asking me in front of my parents why I hadn’t gone to his review session on Friday.
    So then, after they were gone, I tried to show my dad how much better suited I am for life in Manhattan than in Genovia by ordering some really excellent food. I got us an insalata caprese, ravioli al funghetto, and a pizza margherita, all for under twenty bucks, but I swear, my dad wasn’t a bit impressed! He just poured himself another scotch and soda and turned on the TV. He didn’t even notice when Fat Louie sat down next to him. He started petting him like it was nothing. And my dad claims to be allergic to cats.
    And then, to top it all off, he didn’t even want to talk about Genovia. All he wanted to do was watch sports. I’m not kidding. Sports. We have seventy-seven channels, and all he would watch were the ones showing men in uniforms chasing after a little ball. Forget the Dirty Harry movie marathon. Forget Pop-Up Videos. He just turned on the sports channel and stared at it, and when I happened to mention that Mom and I usually watch whatever is on HBO on Saturday nights, he just turned up the volume!!!
    What a baby.
    And you think that’s bad? You should have seen him when the food got here. He made Lars frisk the deliveryman before he would let me buzz him up! Can you believe it? I had to give Antonio a whole extra dollar