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Like lots of little girls, Bulma had loved to pretend that she was a princess.
For hours she would stroll through her beautiful rose gardens, (her mother's flower beds), ride her beautiful
pony, (one of the many animals that her father had adopted) and would dream of the day when her handsome prince would come.
A desert bandit was certainly a long way from a prince. Yet Bulma certainly couldn't deny that he had succeeded
in sweeping her off her feet.