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ridiculous, sense of

Not perhaps always an asset, but in general I've probably done better by not taking myself too seriously. Intelligent, charming, well-formed and well-spoken... that's for you to assert and me to demur at.

Here's what somebody else had to say on the topic, an extract from one of the wonderful Christmas annuals I've collected over the years. Many of them first came into the family from my mother and gradually disintegrated under the pressure of intensive reading by four of us one after another, which has given me the excuse for some more than usually focused browsing in second-hand bookshops, but this particular annual is one I had not seen before.

The context is that the rather plain princess Angelica received unwanted gifts – punctuality and common-sense – from two of her more serious fairy godmothers. Falling in love with a seventh son of a seventh son undermines the efficacity of these gifts.

"I am sorry," said the Princess, "I'm afraid I am late."
"What!" said the fairy who had given her Punctuality.
"I am late," repeated the Princess.
"Well, no gift I gave has ever not worked before!"
"It has not worked today."
"Why?" said the fairy who had given her Commonsense.
"I stopped to talk to a boy."
"Is he a member of the Princess Angelica Children's Self-Help Guild?"
"No. He writes poetry."
"And you stopped to talk? Then where was your Commonsense?"
"I don't know," said the Princess with a happy smile.
"Miserable child," said the two fairies in chorus, "you prove yourself unworthy of our two great gifts."
"Well, I didn't ask for them," said the Princess politely but firmly. "And they have stopped work of their own accord today."
The fairies looked at each other. "We will take them away," they said in one terrible voice. "You shall have instead what has brought many Princesses to bad ends: Good Looks and a Sense of the Ridiculous. Some day you will be sorry."