Boys and girls, your princess has let you down. Not only have I failed to keep you abreast of the latest and greatest antics in my royally screwed up life (but the team of experts who help me with mundane things like hair, skin, and various waxing endeavors that we won’t mention here assure me that they’ve enjoyed previewing the first-run edition of these tales of woe), I’ve stopped kissing frogs entirely.
Now, just because I’m on a semi-permanent frog-kissing hiatus doesn’t mean I’m renouncing my crown. I am still very much a princess in my own mind . . . and I won’t object if you address me as princess, provided you remove any trace of snideness from your tone. Don’t make me bust out my tiara and teach you a lesson, okay?
The greater frog community is safe for now. I’m not joining a convent or retreating from civilization, although actually, that might be safer for all parties involved. (Note to self: explore convent and hermit options.) But I’ve been on quite the metaphorical roller-coaster ride this fall, and before I lose my lunch, I’ve got a few things to figure out.
Although I was born tall, I’ve been a late bloomer in every other sense – which was probably a blessing in disguise because had I discovered boys while in high school, I likely would have wound up with 3 kids before graduation day. As a kid, I was the human equivalent of Kix cereal. I did my homework, had a job, participated in school activities, and attended church regularly, even though I came from a family of heathens. I was polite, respectful, and goal-oriented. At age 14, I knew exactly where I’d go to college, what my major would be, and I had a plan for the rest of my life. (Side note: the best laid plans of mice, men, and princesses occasionally go astray.)
I finished college in record time, anxious to start my grown-up life. I followed all the rules, made my parents proud and largely stayed out of trouble. (At least, that’s how we’re going to document it for the history books, okay? Those of you who know better are invited to stuff it, but in the most loving way possible.) To complete my grown-up life, I jumped into a relationship and began cohabitating, with the goal of registering at Target, wearing a white dress, and living happily ever after.
I think we all know how that story ends. But what you don’t know is that I appear to be having a delayed adolescence. As an actual adolescent, I spent more time watching John Hughes movies and hoping that my own Jake Ryan would show up and whisk me away in his Porsche. Instead of Jake Ryan, I dated a few guys who later came out of the closet and then I jumped into playing house with Mr. Wrong.
Fast forward a few years when I’m a suddenly single 30-something, and kissing frogs as if it’s a blood sport. Because I’ve always done what’s expected of me, followed the rules, and been responsible, I’m fixated on the idea of the church wedding and living happily ever after in a modest house with a dog. (Kids optional). But I’m worried. Am I dateable? I try my hand at internet dating; a go on a blind date; and I even promote a few friends to frogs . . . and not only do I develop a repertoire of amusing anecdotes to share with the 23 people bored enough to read my blog, I also learn a few important lessons about myself.
If you’re in a committed, monogamous relationship, listen up. I admire you. Dating is relatively easy. You put on a cleavage-baring top, slap on some lipstick, and act charming for a set period of time. As long as your table manners don’t suck and provided you have the social skills of a trained monkey, you’ll be just fine. When the date is over, you return home, throw on some grubby sweats, and recommence belching, farting, and scratching yourself. (Hypothetically).
Relationships, on the other hand, are what happen when the date ends. Relationships aren’t about being charming – they are about being present, caring about someone else and their needs as much as (or more than) your own, and they are about what happens when you are more than just me but rather, part of a “we”. And that, my friends, is hard work.
I’ve met a lot of frogs lo these last 18 months. While there are a few frogs whom I’d like to never see again, many of these frogs are near and dear to my heart. In fact, I count some of them among my closest friends. But there hasn’t been a single frog for whom I’m willing to make the kind of compromises required for a relationship to work. I don’t want to meet your parents, watch football, or eat sushi. What I want is to laugh, to have a good time, and to go home alone, throw on my grubbiest clothes, and be myself.
And so, my friends, I’ve had to rethink the entire premise of this blog. I’m no longer searching for a prince. Instead, I’m trying to figure out how to be the best princess I can be, bar none. I’m not sure I want that white dress and big to-do anymore. Instead, I think I’ll just play dress-up and hit the town with my gal pals. I’m no longer in pursuit of happily ever after . . . but I’ll gladly accept content right now.
Does this mean you’ll never have to read this drivel again? Hell, no. You’re not that lucky. I’ll continue to document the days of my life for your viewing pleasure . . . but we’re entering a new chapter which means that our plot has changed a little bit. Personally, I think the story is just starting to get interesting, so I hope you’ll hang in there with me to see how this one ends.
Later, frogs! Muah!
© 2010 Princess D
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