As little girls we are raised on the fairy tale formula - the concept that our lives should play out like a fairy tale - that we are little princesses existing in torment, singing under water, scrubbing fireplaces, or lying comatose under the spell of yet another evil stepmother, awaiting the arrival of our charming prince whereupon life will begin and we will live happily ever after. I have nothing against charming princes or the pursuit of happiness.
But I do have a problem with teaching our children that they are entitled to a happily-ever-after life, when the truth of the matter is that it doesn't exist. Somewhere along the way we all come to find a page ripped out of our fairy tale - the scenery changed - the ending rewritten until it looks nothing like we had originally planned. Case in point: Derk McDermott - the charming prince of my high school fairy tale.
Derk was "it" in high school, never looked at me once, and ended up marrying the head cheerleader and moving away to have beautiful blonde children with expensive names. Fifteen years later, they split, he moved back, and I fell under the spell again. Maybe, just maybe, this was my chance to be with the man of my dreams - just like on Lifetime. When I ran into his sister at the mall who insisted she'd have him call me, I heard little blue birds singing as they sewed the pearls on my ball gown.
Hey, it's Derk. Want to come over? That was the message that I played for my friends, neighbors, and the pizza guy, who all agreed it sounded very positive. I ordered Bride magazine and accepted the invitation. It didn't strike me as odd that Derk lived in the basement of his mother's house. It didn't strike me as odd that Derk had put on twenty pounds and lost all his hair except for the mammoth sideburns.
It didn't strike me as odd that his mother sat beside us, chain-smoking Camels while she knitted - or that he spent three hours describing how he got his Corvette detailed - or that he still had a Van Halen poster in his room. Or that the only time he asked about me was to ask if I had stayed in touch with the football team. I didn't think it weird that he talked more about what he was going to do rather than what he was actually doing. But when he yelled at me for sitting on his stuffed raccoon - that was weird. And when the dogs entered the picture, things got really ugly.
I have nothing against dogs. I do have something against basset hounds named Grunt who try to pee on my leg. Derk said he was just marking his territory. His mother warned me, from underneath the never-ending ash tip of her cigarette, that it would be better if I kept moving so that Churchill, the Scottish Terrier in heat, didn't land on me. And when they spent thirty minutes trying to get Daisy the poodle into her J. Lo outfit, I could no longer hear them over the sounds of my fairy tale characters screaming a violent death. My attention was no longer on Derk, but planning my escape into a newly vowed life of celibacy.
I was able to sneak out unnoticed while they were yelling at their afternoon soaps. I drove around town pondering this new paradigm shift and having a moment of silence for the Derk who used to be and was no more. I think that was the moment that I realized that fairy tales don't come true and that very few of us get what we wish for. Thank you, God. And knowing that has made me happier. Now I have a son of my own who, I must admit, is a charming prince. And I'll be sure to teach him that stepmothers aren't inherently evil, that castles are hard to clean, and that life doesn't promise us a happily-ever-after. And once you realize that, you'll be happier. I promise.
No comments:
Post a Comment