American Princess

Previously on "American Princess"...

And you can shred your Black Card.

- Mom's cutting you off. - You know what?

You can tell Mom to keep her emotional blood money.

- I'm getting a job here. - You're what?

You're hired.

Huzzah for the tipper!

Look, I'm beyond sorry that what I did upset you.

Are you on our honeymoon?

Oh, my God. Amanda. You guys, it's Amanda.

Oh. Hi!

I just spoke to Brett.

- How's rehab? - Lexi, she's not in rehab.

- That's just what we're saying. - I know this is a weird time,

but are you reimbursing us for the bridesmaid dresses?

What? No.

How can you have known me for one day

and be nicer to me than the people

who were supposed to be in my wedding?

The man who broke your heart was back to rub your nose in it,

publicly?

He's such a dick. Always was.

Morning.

Ew.

Huh?

Oh.

Hi.

Uh, excuse me.

Do you think I could maybe borrow some shampoo?

Ooh! Excuse me.

Hey. Are you okay?

- It sounded like you were... - Upset?

Yes. I saw a spider,

but it was washed down the drain before I could rescue it.

Nature is a bitch.

Well, maybe when the sun comes up,

it'll climb up the spout again.

You're not supposed to be in here.

I thought this was a communal shower, like at Camp Mischpocheh.

This is my private shower time.

You can reserve private shower time?

- Where's the sign-up sheet? - There is no sign-up sheet.

There is seniority and time spent and a position earned.

- But I-I guessed... - Out.

So, she's the queen of the bathroom, too?

She's the queen of everything.

Well, she sure ain't the queen of waxing salon.

I just can't shake the visual of her hair-ea.

I'm not saying everyone should get a Brazil,

but they should at least get out of Romania.

I once let my armpit hair grow out to see if I could braid it.

Could you?

I couldn't. It kept curling up.

- So, Maggie was mad? - She wasn't happy.

- Oh. That's not good. - Why not?

Because. Maggie's approval means everything.

It means better shower time. It means more beer tickets.

Oh, and if she really likes you,

she'll let you take a nap on the sheepskin rug in her tent.

Honeysuckle. Oats and grapefruit gobblers.

Oh, Fairemily breakfast.

Oh!

Sorry. So sorry.

Stick.

Oh, hey, Sugar Shack.

- Hey. - Omelets. Awesome.

Are there onions?

And I'll have whatever cheese you've got, but light.

Too much dairy is... Well, you get it.

Yep. I got it.

Oh, leave that flame so I get it.

We cook for ourselves with the food we buy ourselves, princess.

That's "pub wench" to you.

What, you only know how to make reservations?

- Rude and vaguely anti-Semitic. - How about this?

I will make a double-sized cheddar-and-ham for myself,

and I'll give you half on credit.

Thank you. No ham in mine, though,

unless you can assure me that the meat is sustainably farm...

- Ham is fine. - Mm-hmm.

And I'm guessing that there aren't any egg whites?

Got it, no. Cool. It's co... It's cool.

Oh! Look at you all dressed in clothes.

Amanda said you were crying this morning.

When I get sad, I think about fish.

Don't focus on the plastic they eat.

Think about their adorable faces.

- Ugh. I'm off to Faire workshop. - You're going to that, too?

- Great. I was gonna maybe stop by. - Ugh.

Uh, FYI... Maggie teaches the workshop,

- and it's mandatory for newbs. - Even for pub wenches?

We mainly just pour beer and jiggle.

We like our peripheral employees to stay consistent

with proper Elizabethan dialect,

syntax, behavior as best they can.

- Peripheral? - Superfluous, extraneous, nonessential.

- I know what peripheral means. - Well, you should shine, then.

Do you sleep in that?

Whoa, all garbed up?

I thought you were going to a radio station.

- Thanks. - I am. To be on the radio.

I am representing the Faire as William Shakespeare.

It's fun for the disc jockeys.

Well, I love the school spirit.

You go knock 'em dead, son. I shall.

- You going to Maggie's workshop? - Can't.

Me and Shart are gonna paper the town with Ren Faire fliers,

you know, drum up the locals?

Radio gigs and fliers... really leaning into this Dark Ages

- branding in every way. - You know, the Dark Ages

was actually a few hundred years before the...

- The Renaissance. I know. - Mm-hmm.

I was being nonliteral.

I'll be on the air in 47 minutes...

in case you want to hear how it's done.

Shakespeare wore a smartwatch?

Eh, man was fastidious about his 10,000 steps a day.

I do.

I do.

Thou dost.

Thou dost.

Huzzah!

Huzzah!

Now, I couldn't help but overhear multiple examples

of dropped Elizabethan phrasing last weekend.

Whether you are serving food or fitting corsets,

you are part of one cohesive show here, people... our show.

- For instance... - Hey, Natasha...

It is not a smartphone, it is a tiny, portable...

- Did I miss anything? - No.

Just Elizabeth telling us we suck at Elizabethan.

Good day, mistress. How gracious of thee to join us.

Sorry. There was a crazy line for the privies.

- And who do I... - As I was saying,

I've noticed some slacking.

Ow.

- You okay? - Cramps.

Oh, I'm sure someone around here has ibuprofen.

- Oh, no, babe. I don't do pills. - She doesn't do pills.

I'm saying, "Natasha doesn't do pills."

That's right.

It is our responsibility to live, breathe,

- and speak British history. - Ooh.

I know a ton about British history

and the East London club scene.

- Awesome. - As townsfolk of Shropshire,

seeing the Queen Elizabeth in person

would be the greatest honor you could ever have.

And you must pay

the appropriate respect.

The only person I bow down to in real life is Beyoncé.

Slay.

We show deference by kneeling, by bowing, by curtsying.

- Who's first? - Ooh!

Cardio Barre has me curtsying like a boss.

Natasha, maker of the pockets of pork, come forth.

Defer to your queen.

Ow.

Most excellent.

Callie, nurturer of horses.

I mostly brush and ride, but okay.

Lovely.

Very, very lithe.

Juan Andrés, purveyor of fine flagons.

Hail and well met, Your Majesty.

What the fo...

One punch takes out the both of you. One.

Okay, you. Beguile us.

- Actually, I was thinking... - Oh, f...

You know how the queen would literally never cross paths

with a pub wench in an open-air bar

where they serve cocktails like "Gimlet, Prince of Denmark"?

So how fun would it be if, instead,

one of the queen's guards,

or whatever, fell in love with the pub wench

and he invited her to serve the queen at her throne?

Fun, right? Oh, and...

Like a palsied seal.

- Moving on. - W-Wait. What about my idea?

Let's stick with the scenarios we already do, all right?

I pass. You lower yourself.

We give our guests the immersive experience

of a queen and her queendom.

- But... - Shh. That's enough.

Sit.

Damn, girl. You sassed Beyoncé.

Lord Mason, prostrate thyself.

Did she say "prostate"?

Mason, bow!

Bravo.

And that's how we do it.

Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks,

musings into my mind,

and finding little comfort to relieve them.

Uh-oh. She's out.

I thought it princely charity to grieve them.

- Ooh! - Ah!

More cowbell!

Oh, man. Good radio. Well done.

Yeah, that rhymes.