Princess Aur-whore-a

I recently procured a job as a Disney princess at birthday parties. This is the most exciting thing ever, because it combines my love of singing and acting with every girl's dream of dressing up like a princess.

Now, because I got dat hourglass shape with larger than average boobies, I must wear a corset or else the children ask why Princess Ariel has such big boobs (True story. Happened to the founder.). Strapless bras simply will not do; the boobies must be flattened so that I look like a youthful person who has developed normally.

So, here is a picture of the corset I ordered:

It is white and has only a slight pattern, meaning it won't show through anything. And the top is straight across and high enough that it will cover everything. It is perfect.

This, however, is the corset that came in the mail:

It even came with "underwear."

This is the phone call that ensued after I opened up the package:

Operator: Thank you for calling customer service. How may I assist you?
Me: Hi, yeah, I ordered the ivory strapless bridal corset recently from Amazon, but when I got the delivery, it was not what I ordered.
Operator: What did you receive?
Me: Um, well...it's black, and leather, and has a zipper and hooks....
Operator: What is the item number?
Me: *says whatever number was*
Operator: That is the number of the item you ordered.
Me: I don't know what to tell you, but this is not the ivory strapless bridal corset.

So they emailed me and asked for pictures of the product, and when I sent them pictures, they responded that the item I received is one that they don't even sell anymore and it was the stockroom's fault.

They're sending me the right corset, thankfully, but they told me I could keep this one as well because they can't do anything with it.

Isn't that nice? I could create my own Disney princess character (Princess Aur-whore-a, perhaps?) that has daddy issues and acts out by becoming a stripper and sings, "I'm a ho, I'm a ho, can't keep my legs shut anymore" to the tune of "Let it Go" whilst hanging upside down from a pole. I can don this pleather monstrosity as well as the pleather G-string—the inside is faux suede, by the way, because every vagina needs a warm, fuzzy hug—and dance for the children at their birthday parties. Their parents would love that. Welcome to the real world, little ones.

But instead my mother is going to take the corset to the costume shop at the theater she works at, because you never know what you'll need for a show. And I am going to use the underwear like a microfiber cloth and clean my tub with them. Or maybe I'll use them as floss. Or an eyepatch. Or half of a bikini top.

Or I'll probably just throw them away.