Growing up in the Disney era, I know a lot about love. Happily Ever After. A custom-made man will stroll up to me and fall head over heels. Flowers, love notes, reminders that I am the princess. His role in life will be to love me.
My prince charming doesn’t seem that demanding. He needs to love me and I need to love him, naturally. He should like to travel. Talk about books. He needs to be able to grow a beard (and I wouldn’t mind dreadlocks.) I want to learn from him, but not feel dumb. He can’t walk with his iPod in. Or play Halo.
But how’s a girl to recognize this long-awaited prince when he does show up? If he doesn’t have a white horse? If there aren’t any credits to roll. About two years ago, that book reader-beard grower appeared from the stressful confines of boring co-workers. He’d even had little white boy dreads in a few times in college.
My prince, showing up right on cue? It seemed too easy. Like adolescence wrapping itself up, telling me my carefree single days were over. The end of the adventure. He couldn’t possible be the prince. There was no fight, or drama, or even another woman. But, does there have to be hardship in order for happiness?
See, love is tricky. I’ll profess my love without thinking, but only to things like cream cheese*, Johnny Depp, or my teal converse sneakers. An adorable “love” hanging out, “love” the same foods, “love” the same parties type of “love.” But I don’t actually LOVE-love these things. When does it start being the “deep-down-in-my-soul-I’ll-watch-what-you-want-on-T.V.” sort of way men and women love each other? Turn out, the trick is having the guts to notice it.
* I may actually love cream cheese.
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