Chapter Twenty Nine; Princeless Princess

From the age of three I was subjected to fairy tale propaganda that served only to convince me that every good happily ever after contains two vital components: a prince and a princess.

Couple all that preschool brainwashing with the super self assured state I’ve possessed since birth and its no wonder I have spent my entire life believing I am princess material. (Anyone need some extra ego? I accidentally got a second helping if anyone needs more? I don’t know how this happened. I never asked God to super size my sassy sense of self, I just arrived in this state.)

The fact that at age four I actually demanded my younger sister refer to me as Your Royal Highness is a perfect illustration. As you can imagine, that’s a mouthful for a two year old. But only because I knew what she meant was I okay with her referring to me as “Oil Mess” for approximately three years.

Arrogance + royalty complex = my (stupidly) deducing, “If I am said princess in every fairytale ever written, it therefore must be my life’s endeavor to spend every waking moment in hot prince pursuit.”

This has not worked so well for me.

It has only left me ranting, “Well Geeze Louise! If that is the case where the hell is he? As of today, he appears to be one oblivious blue blood. Didn’t he see the scroll nailed in the town square last December? “It is hereby declared Princess Audra is now divorced. She awaits her princely rescue!” So far, I see no hot royal ass upon a noble steed heading my direction. Screw this. I’m climbing down out of this the tower. I am so outta here.”

Hear ye, hear ye. Princess Audra has left the castle.

Henceforth, I chose Saturday as my day to begin banishing all princess-like behaviors and start acting more like the independent peasant that I am:

• Woke up early to birds singing. And I decided not to throw open the shutters and harmonize with the robins like I usually do. That is just so Snow White.
• No servant made my coffee, I brewed my own: strong and dark with far too much creamer, exactly the way I like it. (Oooh, good life metaphor. Note to self.)
• I decided if I am going to be any princess protagonist today, I prefer the pre-prince floor polishing version of Cinderella; therefore I cleaned my house until it sparkled like a drag queen tiara.
• I backslid briefly when I decided I had no choice but to tap some testosterone and summon my former DLTC to help me tackle some physical labor. But I was no damsel in distress. Oh no, I helped! (At least I like to think I helped. His version probably just has me chattering endlessly while he did all the work but even this scenario supports the case that at the very least I did not sit there comatose like Sleeping Beauty.)
• The rest of the afternoon, I confess, I indulged in some princess pampering when I headed to the mall for shopping therapy and an over priced pedicure. My toes are now lavender with flowers. (What are you going to do? Throw me in the dungeon? Bite me.)
• The day ended with Divorce Land Girl #5, Sonja, throwing a party at her kingdom to celebrate her “I am so not a princess either I can earn my own damn money!” MBA. Most importantly, I left no glass slipper behind at the ball as a calling card. And I was home before midnight. (I am not one to push my pumpkin luck.)

So far, so good.

For now, for today, my happily ever after does not include a prince at my side, and damn’t, ask me if I care. Because you know what? I look stunning without this crown on my head. It was totally flattening my hair.

But maybe deep down a part of me does hope that someday my prince will come thundering into my life, sweep me off my feet, and apologize profusely for being so damn late.

But until then, I will just have to secretly harbor the dream that all fairy tale influenced little princesses grow up longing for:

That one princely guy.

To call me Oil Mess.