Dear readers . . . I have some news. You may want to sit down for this. Take a deep breath, folks. I have some news.
This princess is done kissing frogs.
I haven’t followed through with my threats to join a convent or become a lesbian nun, and I haven’t thrown in the towel, choosing to become a crazy cat lady instead of facing yet another date from hell. In an ironic twist of fate (FYI God – your warped sense of humor isn’t lost on me), the very minute I became comfortable and secure with my singleton status . . . Prince Charming showed up.
I never expected to meet my prince hanging out in one of my best friend’s basements. When my domestic projects were completed with the installation of the infamous dishwasher by what I lovingly referred to as some eye-candy on New Year’s Eve, I didn’t realize that the plumber crack I was admiring might belong to the man of my dreams. A month later, when I stumbled out of my best friend’s bedroom sporting a helluva hangover, wild woman of Borneo hair, and old lady jammies only to have an awkward early morning bathroom encounter with a hottie, I never once thought, “I bet we’ll go on a date one day.” But that’s what transpired.
I met a dandy, handy man last fall – and we became friends, first on Facebook and then in real life. The first time I met him, he thought I was your run-of-the-mill desperate tramp who’d been lured into his roommate, The Snake’s lair, and he therefore spoke to me in a rude and patronizing tone. I gave him a quick once over and decided that although he was pretty hot, he was immune to my feminine wiles. Since he also insulted both me and my intelligence within five minutes of meeting me, I wrote him off as gay – because as we all know, the only men who don’t fall prey to my charms are gay. Or vampires.
This is hardly the stuff of fairy tales, I know. My handy prince was in a serious relationship with someone and as you know, I was revenge dating both at and below my level. Fast forward to two months ago, when Handy broke up with his serious gal pal and I jokingly said, “Great – now you can take me out on a date.” Instead of viewing this opportunity as the grand prize it is, he laughed and said, “I don’t think so. You are WAY too tall for me.” Seriously?!? I retorted, and I quote, “You can try to resist me, but I will grow on you like a fungus. Just wait and see.” And it was on like Donkey Kong from that point forward.
I wore him down, as I knew I would. I also promised to wear flats on our first date. Don’t worry, though – Handy meets all of Princess D's Nine Commandments. (He’s less than an inch shorter than me, but to listen to him talk, I’m some kind of mutant freak.) Several glasses of iced tea and a pizza later, and I’d changed his mind about tall gals. Told you I’d grow on him like a fungus!
A month ago, I kissed a frog in the front seat of an Audi . . . and before my very eyes, the “ribbiting” stopped and a prince appeared. (Interestingly enough, his “castle” borders a moat-like swamp and there is a preponderance of frogs lurking around at all times. Did you need further proof of God’s ironic sense of humor?)
Has your princess found her prince? How many ways can she dream up to screw this up? How much weight will she gain eating pizza and not going to the gym now that she’s no longer revenge dating? Will she ever tell the truth about her age?
Watch this space for the answer to these burning questions! And to my prince . . . the best is yet to come.
© 2011 Princess D
