Her parents, Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, wrapped up their divorce settlement in seemingly record time earlier this month, but it's Suri Cruise who's grabbing most of the headlines. Eonline.com is a particular harbinger of Suri stories, drumming up such fantastic headlines as "Suri Cruise Is Determined to Jump This Puddle -- Does She Make It?" (OK, that story ran way back in March. Seriously, that's a real headline, look it up.) We took a totally fictional peek inside the mind of the probably-super-cranky 6-year-old to see what her life might be like.
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The billion canaries that live in my storybook castle bedroom have started twittering again, so I suppose it's time to rise from the boudoir. How is it possible for a 6-year-old to have such dark undereye circles? Somebody get me some damn cucumber slices.
Now that Mumsy has determined where my schooling will take place, I must take advantage of my last summer of freedom and have a wild playground-chasing fling with the celebrity child of my choosing. Those Jolie-Pitt boys don't stand a chance. Also, apparently something called a Lady Gaga went to this school, which concerns me.
Just got off the iPhone with Christian Louboutin, re: the status of my exhaustive shoe order. He doesn't seem to understand that I'm perfectly capable of walking in 4-inch heels. Daddy started teaching me years ago. Now I shall play "Angry Birds" for at least 45 minutes. I think I identify most with the blue one that pops into many smaller birds.
Mumsy, has no one yet told you that 6 is far too old for taking naps? Instead, I shall lay here and plot how I shall exact my revenge while all the while maintaining an adorable facial expression.
It's my favorite time of day: Venturing out into the city streets to purchase a variety of useless trinkets, aka Get Mumsy Some Good Post-Breakup Press. Mumsy, I liked your hair so much better when we had matching bobs, even though I know it was Daddy's idea.
Have asked Mumsy to bring me an apple juice box, like, 12 times. Where is my juice box? Yesterday she refused to buy me a puppy, and now I can't even get a friggin' juice box out of the woman.
Still no juice box. What the hell.
The help finally brings me a juice box. My revenge against Mumsy shall be swift, and potentially involve a bedtime tantrum.
When I take a bath, I like to imagine that I'm pulling a reverse "Little Mermaid" and swimming away to join King Triton. This mostly involves screaming "Part Of Your World" at the top of my lungs. There are very few paparazzi under the sea, though I fear the salt water would be murder on my skin.
Too exhausted from sloshing every last droplet of water out of the bath to perform any revenge on Mumsy. That doesn't count, because the help will clean it up. Oh well, tomorrow is a new day.