Confessions of an Elf-Dependent Princess

I pay the Elf-Therapist a $35 co-pay in exchange for 90 minutes of contentious interaction, peppered with loud cursing and uncontrollable weeping (mine) and periodic impertinent and indignant snorts (his). Whether or not these little visits are actually helpful or not remains to be seen, but one thing is clear . . . I've developed a little elf dependency problem.

Now, I do recognize that the Elf is on my payroll, and therefore, required to feign interest in me and my well-being in exchange for the $205 price-tag for his valuable time and deep thoughts. I know it's common for patients to develop strange and obsessive attachments to their therapists, and I hate to be just another statistic, but I'm telling you, there are days when I feel like the elf is the only person on earth who really "gets" me. Can I cope with daily life without my magical elf? Of course I can. I'm not clinically insane, for Pete's sakes. I find, however, that I don't want to make major decisions without Elf approval, and when I achieve major life milestones, I can't wait to share my triumphs with the Elf, who will no doubt high-five me and put a note in my permanent file.

Since I'm a little . . . uh . . . attached to the Elf, imagine my separation anxiety as he embarks on professional development and exotic vacations. His latest sabbatical has him out of the office for almost four weeks, and true to form, I've chosen this precise moment to develop a co-dependency problem. Cue the soap opera music, please!

So, here's the dilemma. The Elf thought it would be a good idea for me to get out there and start kissing frogs - not in an effort to find a prince but rather, because he knows how remedial my interpersonal skills are and he recognized that I was going to need a lot more practice than someone with actual, functional relationship skills. He has been my constant cheerleader in this journey and he gets as excited as I do about each new date. (He won't, however, indulge me in discussions about how to fix my hair - straighten it or curl it? - or about what to wear. Apparently, that would cross some kind of professional boundary. It's totally okay for him to mock me, call me names, and make me wipe my snot in his substandard "Target brand" facial tissues, but to offer advice on something meaningful like, "does this eyeshadow make me look slutty" crosses the line. Noodle on that for a while and let me know if it makes any sense to you.)

Neither one of us ever expected me to have a second date. Or, god forbid, a third one. In fact, one of the skills I am supposed to be developing through all these first dates is the ability to set boundaries, like ending the date if it sucks (yeah, I haven't mastered that one yet. Please see Frogs #2, #4, and #5 as examples) or telling Frogs "thanks for a lovely time but I don't think this is going to work out." Suffice to say, since we've devoted the majority of our time and attention to the first date, we've failed to work on developing my skills and abilities beyond that.

How are grown adults supposed to behave when they're dating? And how do they know this? I keep wondering if there is some secret instruction manual out there that everyone but me has read - and as a control freak and a closet perfectionist, I want to get this right. Should I wear a t-shirt declaring that I'm special needs? I just realized I've never dated as an adult, and my only frames of reference come from "chick lit" and "chick flicks". When you're using Bridget Jones Diary and Sex and the City as a benchmark of what's normal, believe me - you're heading straight for an anxiety attack. You'll have to start smoking, for one thing, and you're definitely going to be one hell of a weird date.

Do I need to solve this puzzle immediately? Probably not. Any frog who makes it past the second date and who has an IQ above 30 can clearly see that I'm a basket case and will probably receive community service credit for additional time spent with the special needs princess. But I can't help but wonder what the Elf would say about all this . . . . (And by the way, he is a dead-ringer for Hermey the elf, DDS from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.)

© 2010 Princess D