Monday, May 8, 2017

There Is No Arizona

Most fairy tails begin with "Once upon a time..." and end with "...happily ever after."

They have trials and tribulations and daring rescues by dashing princes.

When I was a little girl, I was taught that if I styled my hair, wore makeup, wore the right clothes, the right shoes, the right perfume, then the handsome prince would come rescue me from...what?...myself?

He would ride in on his white horse, sweep me up, and carry me away into our blissful forever.

The thing is, I never learned how to be a girl.  Hair?  Makeup?  Style?  Hopeless.  Complete failure, really.  I can barely manage a ponytail, most cosmetics and perfumes make me itch, and my clothing is best described as "comfortable" and "hand-me-down", machine washable and dryable.

And if there's a prince out there, he's not looking at me.  He's looking at some princess far more comely and appealing on her worst day than I can manage on my best, and who can blame him?

After all this time, I've had to learn to rescue myself.  I suppose that's fine, better than waiting around for the myth that never comes.  There's no prince for me.  Hell, what prince wants a dull, middle-aged damsel with tiny, sagging tits, a flabby belly, flabby arms, flabby legs, sagging ass, and precious little sex appeal?

Experience hath shewn that I'm not worth any effort, but since it takes an effort to love me...or really, have anything to do with me...well...you can see where at least part of the trouble lies.

There is no happily ever after in my story - There's just this grey sort of existence where I am constantly reminded just how little worth I have by the very people who claim to value me even as their actions show otherwise.

I wish I could rid myself of the lingering longing for that long ago promised prince.  I might not be any happier than I am now, but maybe I wouldn't ache so much over how lonely and unwanted I feel in these wee small hours when I am weary and worn and in no mood or condition to battle the darkness, the emptiness, that close in on me like hungry dragons with no princely rescuer in sight.