Wednesday, February 8, 2012

My Prince Charming pulled up in a 1967 Ford Mustang.

Prince Charming.  How did we define him as little girls?  When I was twelve my perfect hero needed to be of course handsome but not in a swashbuckling kind of way.  Perhaps that was my saving grace, but I'll get back to this later.  He needed to be interesting, clever, and above all - have a fantastic sense of humor.  Whomever my prince was, this amazing human being riding into my life be it on a white stallion - no, I've always had a secret fear of horses, or in classic green 1967 Ford Mustang, he had to be able to make me laugh.  Oh, and one other thing, he had to take me as I was.  No pretending to be Princess Aurora around him.

That request didn't seem difficult.  After all, I was cute.  There were lots nice guys out in the world who would love and cherish a rough and tumble, say-it-like-it-is, sassy girl like me.  Someone who would take one look at me jumping through sprinklers in the middle of winter and offer me his jacket afterwards.  Someone who would call me out when I was telling him a bold faced lie and laugh in my face when I denied it.  Someone who could look into the depth of my soul and know what I was thinking before I ever said a word.  Someone who's fingertips against mine could send my body into quiet tremors. 

As I look back at it now, my expectations were high but I was also realistic.  These lovely hopes were not so far beyond my reach.  In fact now, every morning when I wake up and look at the sweet, dear man lying beside me, I give thanks.  There are so many women who've wasted their lives in search of a chiseled Adonis with a healthy bank account. So I wonder, in their search who have they passed along the way?  How many interesting, clever, and amazing princes have passed them by and out of these - who might have brought them their glass slipper?

When Eric and I married we were both geeky looking 20-somethings who had suffered some pretty tough times. We weren't perfect, but we weren't looking for perfect - we were looking for happy.  Some eighteen years later,  my glass slippers fit perfectly, his fingertips still elicit tremors, and when I tell a whopper he still laughs and accuses me of being a liar.  

...and we lived happily ever after...

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