prayerful of dreams - 2008-06-28
preschool princess - 2008-06-16
life with my sweetheart - 2008-04-29
the fast approach of four - 2008-04-12
lighting up my own life - 2008-03-08
2001-12-05 - 5:42 p.m.
you know, it is strange. I am traumatized by my age. But in keeping with my total, newly discovered shallowness, it has to do with ~vanity and fear~. First off, I am terrified of growing older, because I am hopelessly single. I am starting to feel like bad vegetables on the marked down shelf!! The "reduced for quick sale" kind! How DID THIS HAPPEN TO ME?
When I was just a little girl, I used to dream about my wedding day. I know that all little girls do, but there was something sooooo extravagant about *my* day dreams. The closest I could ever come to explaining it, would be to tell you, that the pomp and circumstance of Princess Diana's wedding was SMALL and INTIMATE in comparison to what my fantasy nutptial day consisted of!
And I can tell you this much, the day was really all about me, - and-of course, THE DRESS. Said dress was going to be, layers and layers of exquisite crinoline and tulle, ( enough to outfit an entire principality) and made from the palest pink satin, with a bustle bow, and a train that went on for pale pink miles. Thousands of tiny hand sewn buttons, in the back, and *lots* of glittering cleavage in the front. Blonde ringlets held in place, by a jeweled tiara. Everyone who ever pissed me off, was going to be invited, and purposefully seated in the front row , so that they could gasp in amazement at my S T U N N I N G beauty. It was going to be my *shining moment*. You see, it had nothing to do with the pale faced groom. In my daydreams, he was always blurry, but well dressed. He didn't really come into play, too much. I figured, he was going to just fall into formation, like a soldier , say his lines, and give me a passionate kiss when they pronounced us Beautiful Pale Pink Glittering Bride, and oh yeah, her uh...lucky bastard groom.
Never occured to me, to worry about where he was going to come from. I had total faith, imagining that even if he was born on the other side of the world, The Crown Prince of Maledonia, that somehow, he would * find* his way to me ( and slay as many fire breathing dragons as he needed, along the way). Do you get how naive and trusting I was? I just totally and hopelessly believed. I trusted in fate, serendipity, kismet and karma, to send him to me. Angels would gently guide him into my path and we would lock eyes, and stars would collide. and he would just
L O V E M E
hence the wedding. Duh!
and now, I wake up with a panic attack in the middle of the night, and sit upright in the bed, and hear the phrase " mature bride" in my head. It means, brides over 30 look like trussed up turkeys in pale pink flouffy bridal gowns. Mature brides opt for sensible shoes and support hose, and layers of girdles and underwear to hold in, everything that they ever ate in the last decade. Mature brides do not have glittering cleavage, they have cleavage that is hoisted up to their crepey necks in a deceptive, corseted way. Trust me, once you turn 30, your underwear is all about illusions. Even Houdini would be impressed with your tricks, for making bulges and sagging breast disappear in a now you see it, "now you don't kinda way "
Alas,a few weeks ago, the housekeeper asked me if I would marry her South American cousin for $5,000 . I immediately said , um, sorry but no WAY!!!! I mean, how could I do such an unethical thing, are you insane, you psychotic wench ?! Ok, the last part I didn't actually say aloud, but you know what the scary thing is ?
Later, I thought, hmmm, I wonder if I could have worn the pink dress ?
old starlight - new starbright
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