It is rare that I get a forward in my email. I hate them and most of my friends know not to send them lest they are sent directly to junk. But this one came from a friend and is written by a friend. I tell you, she has my exact story. Weird how singular we all feel and yet how similar we all are. So, below is her story that is my story. I thought I would share the version that is hers with some editing so it is mine. Such a wonderful piece.
I love Cinderella. She’s beautiful inside and out, she’s kind to animals, she has a great singing voice, but most of all I love, love, love that ball gown. I want that ball gown! Some girls favorite princess was Sleepy Beauty; I thought Cinderella could kick her ass; after all she had a tough life with all those chores and nasty stepsisters and stepmother. Let’s not forget about Prince Charming—admit it, he was pretty darn handsome for a cartoon. And, although Cinderella married Prince Charming, I always thought she could make it on her own, kind of like Mary Richards on the Mary Tyler Moore Show, but that’s another story.
Growing up, my parents taught me to stand on my own two feet. It was implied that I could do whatever I wanted to, and for the most part, I have. Neither I, nor my brother have married, found our prince or princess respectively. That's right. I’m 33 and have never been married. Why? Good question.
Over the years, it never occurred to me that I wouldn’t get married. It seemed that everyone did sooner or later. I dated some very nice guys and had a lot of fun. I even lived with one for a while but I always knew I’d never marry him. He had big muscles and was cute. We had almost nothing in common—he worked outdoor construction, I hate the outdoors; I like politics, he hates it. You get the picture. Subconsciously, I knew that I was smarter than he was, and that was a problem, although I couldn’t admit that to myself at the time. The only thing we had in common was our adoration for The Three Stooges, and even a woman waiting for Prince Charming knows that The Three Stooges isn’t enough to base a marriage on. When he asked me to marry him, I had to say no. Frankly, I was astounded that he didn’t seem to know that we wouldn’t work long-term but then again, I was smarter than he was. You gotta love a big, dumb, cute oaf though.
There have been men that I have been nuts for. Although I’m usually the dumpee, some of these men have pointed out that I had left the relationship long before the actual separation. I’ve even come to realize that some of these men turned out not to be who I thought they were because I had made them up. I projected traits that I admired onto them and therefore, they could never live up to the image that I created. That realization was a real eye-opener for me. Don’t get me wrong; I truly cared for these men and even cried over some of them. Looking back, I don’t regret dating them, but I sure am glad I didn’t marry any of them.
I don’t know that my prince will ever come but I’m glad that I have never made waiting for him a priority because I would have missed so much-becoming a doctor, a career that is my own solely, travel to faraway places, exceptional food, meeting extraordinary people, fun with friends, and the fact that although I fall sometimes, I get back up and do it again with my own velocity, my own power, my own tenacity. I own a home, a car, enough money to buy myself things I want or pay to fix household things I can’t, and the love of two adorable but naughty doggies, and an obnoxious cat. I don’t really need anything. I like doing my own thing and not answering to anyone but me.
But every once in a while, not that often, but once in a while, I think I’d like to put on that Cinderella ball gown and meet a prince. Notice I didn’t say “marry”; I own my own crown.
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