Your mission should you choose to accept it, is to save a future president of the United States. She’s a 10 year old brat.

“Don’t eat that!” you scream as you throw yourself across the room knocking the cupcake from the hand of a rather sticky and badly dressed fairy whose face is incongruously painted with tiger whiskers. She plants her hands on her hips and stomps one chubby foot “hey it’s MY birthday I can do what I want!”.

As tempted as you are to dust off the cupcake, which is heavily laden with poison, and hand it back to her with a flourish, you bite your tongue and grind the icing into the rug with your boot. “Not on my watch Princess, not on my watch”.