Hi, everybody! I hope you’re all safe and healthy during this difficult time.

Weirdly, entries from Princess Mia Thermopolis of Genovia’s diary* have fallen into my hands, and as the Princess’s royal biographer, it’s my duty to share them with you.

*Please keep in mind that as with any diary, the princess is only recording her thoughts at the given moment, and has had no copy editing. Also, both the Princess and I are aware that this is a serious and rapidly developing crisis.

I would like to thank health care workers, first responders, and everyone else out there working to keep us healthy, safe, and fed right now. If you’d like to help people who are in need during this crisis, I suggest supporting your local food bank. Find one here.

I hope you enjoy this FREE installment of The Princess Diaries – Quarantine Edition.

Corona Princess Diaries – Day 1

– Royal Bedroom-

Just got back from what was supposed to be a routine meeting with the Genovian prime minister.

Instead of talking about my composting program (compost-treated soils helps protect plants from pests and diseases, and, considering the fact that Genovian olive oil is prized throughout the world, it’s something we ought to have been looking into years ago), she announced that there’s a worldwide pandemic.

Excuse me, but what???

I suppose it’s true I’ve been a little preoccupied with the twins, who are adorable but in their terrible twos (it turns out it’s not an exaggeration: the terrible twos really are terrible) and ruling a small European principality and of course my composting program and this thing with Harry and Meghan.

But hello? A global pandemic?

The Prime Minister says our top epidemiologists (good to know we have those) are telling her that the only way to contain it is something called “social distancing.” That means closing all the schools . . . and also the borders with France, Italy, and Monaco, too.

Of course the twins are too young for school (thank God for the nanny), but this might destroy my mother. She’s going to have to deal with my half-brother Rocky full time now.

And so am I, because even though Dad keeps promising that the summer palace is going to be finished “any day now,” and that he and Mom and Rocky and Olivia (who is a sweetheart and actually very helpful with the twins) and — he swears — Grandmere are all going to move into it and finally allow Michael and I to have the main palace to ourselves (as we rightfully ought to have had since Dad abdicated), I’ve seen no sign of this happening. There’s always something wrong: Dad’s contractor can’t find the right roof tiles for the parapet, or the turrets are crumbling, or the moat isn’t draining properly.

I’ll say there’s something wrong, all right. With ME, for putting up with his nonsense.

But I’m sure it’s going to be fine.

Still, closing the borders could not come at a worst time. This is peak tourist season in Genovia (when it’s 75 degrees outside, sunny, and absolutely perfect weather for water sports, bocce, and dining al fresco). The Genovian Hotel and Restaurant Association is NOT going to be happy with me if I shut down the borders.

But instead of mentioning any of these things to the Prime Minister, I said, “Okay, then! Let’s do whatever we have to do to beat this thing. Genovia strong!”

“Genovia strong!” the Prime minister said.

Then we elbow bumped one another because the Prime Minister said handshakes are not proper social distancing protocol.

I came right home to the palace afterwards and poured myself a glass of wine, even though it was only noon. But lots of people drink wine and even martinis at lunch. One glass of wine is nothing.

Then I looked at the news.

Big mistake.

The news was so grim that I decided to have another glass of wine. Then another. Then I decided to Google “Genovia,” because people are always saying such nice things online about their trips to my country. It really does make me feel so good!

This was an even bigger mistake, though. Because the first thing that came up was a video of MY GRANDMOTHER and a bunch of her friends and assorted other miscreants I did not recognize dancing on a yacht while wearing very little except extremely large sun hats.

On my yacht. MY YACHT THAT I OWN. On the dock down the beach from my palace. WHERE I’M WRITING THIS RIGHT NOW.

Then I had to have another glass of wine because these elderly women (who, according to the Prime Minister, are at an increased risk of death if they contract the virus due to their advanced age) had been spreading their germs all over the EXACT spot on my yacht where I sometimes take my toddlers to play!

It was at this moment when Michael came home from the hospital (where he’s been supervising the installation of yet another robotic thingie he’s invented to save people’s lives. I’m so lucky to have such an accomplished and handsome husband who also invents things I don’t understand and puts up with being a prince consort and having to walk three steps behind me at all times when in public).

“Michael!” I cried, running to give him a hug and have him assure me that everything the Prime Minister and the news had said was all a big mistake.

But instead he threw out his hands to stop me.

“Not only is everything the prime minister saying true,” he said, looking more serious than I’ve ever seen him. “But you can’t touch me—I’m a vector of infection now, since I’ve been at the hospital.”

!!!!!!!

My husband is a vector of infection!!!!

!!!!!!

So we can’t go near one another!!!!

!!!!!!

Or at least not until he’s completely changed clothes, showered, disinfected his entire body, and learned if any of the suspected cases of the virus at the hospital are real or not, which is going to take fourteen days.

I’m sorry, but something has to be done about this! Something more than simply closing the schools and borders.

If only I hadn’t started drinking wine as soon as I got home and saw the news. Perhaps then I could think of a solution as brilliant as my composting program.