I watched the 1937 version of Disney’s Snow White tonight. I think that snow white is the only brunette princess that Walt Disney ever had. But I loved how girly she was. Even as a cartoon she picks up her skirt, lowers her eyes and giggles. Maybe all women in 1937 were that girly. She’s coy; she kisses her dwarfs on the forehead when they offer her their lips and takes very good care of her men.
I had a date tonight with a guy who couldn’t stop telling me how attracted he was to me; he couldn’t stop taking my hand…I had no attraction to him at all…he’s someone I won’t see again. Brown shoes. I can’t date a guy with brown shoes. Beta male. I watched Snow White and wondered if someday my prince would come…he found her in springtime when the cherry blossoms began to fall…it’s April 1st…cherry blossom season here in NJ.
I don’t know when I’ll meet a guy that I want to bake a pie for like Grumpy, gooseberry or not. Maybe I’m just tired of dating and not finding a man who’s the right one. Maybe I wasn’t ever meant to. Not all trees bear fruit.
I’m sad for all the years that I lost. I wonder if I’m squandering them now. I don’t feel like I’m on the outside looking in. I always feel that I’m inside looking out.
When I was in my 20’s I had a boyfriend who was a photographer. It took him a year of begging; a full year before I would let him shoot nudes of me. And one day he said the right thing to me. He said that I didn’t have any idea of my beauty and that when I was 80 years old that I would look back on my photographs and maybe then finally recognize it.
I let him take nudes of me for the next year while we dated and a few times after our relationship ended. From the moment I let him my perspective changed. I looked at them and they were beautiful—but they weren’t me. They were light and shape and shadow and form but I was me; separate and aside…inside, looking out in admiration.
And there is a different appreciation for women of that age. I don’t think that I fully understood men wanting younger women up until a year or two ago. When I was in my 20’s I was attracted to men in their 20’s. In my thirty’s the same thing; ditto for 40’s. I didn’t have a perspective of what youth really meant. But I see it now when I watch the young girls I mentor; I see it when I watch the girls in their teens just on the cusp of womanhood.
Their beauty lies in their innocence. Their lightness, their giggles; they live in a world where life hasn’t disappointed them where hope and optimism live in the steadfast belief that their prince will come.
That there will, of course be white steeds and castles and happily ever afters. Where it takes nothing more than a magic wishing apple and a kiss from a prince to have their dreams come true.
I think about women like Elizabeth Taylor who had multiple husbands. I wonder if they’ve had one of mine. I don’t know, maybe my standards are higher; maybe they have lesser expectations. Maybe they’ve learned to say that he’s not perfect, but he’s perfect for me. Maybe I love at a deeper level. Maybe it comes down to luck and a kind I didn’t have. Maybe we’ve passed each other on the street, maybe we didn’t.
What I do know is that I keep moving and I hate to move. Every time I do it’s more torturous than the last and I don’t ever want to do it again. I keep moving because no where feels like home. I’m wandering aimlessly and I don’t know if I have a date with destiny elsewhere or there will be a lifetime of an endless search for a pair of arms that will finally feel like I’m home. Where I want to fall asleep listening to his heartbeat and wake up with the warmth of his body wrapped around me. I’m heading to sleep tonight a princess without a king; a princess without a castle.
p.s. Dopey was my favorite! He reminded me of Teller of Penn and Teller...
I had a date tonight with a guy who couldn’t stop telling me how attracted he was to me; he couldn’t stop taking my hand…I had no attraction to him at all…he’s someone I won’t see again. Brown shoes. I can’t date a guy with brown shoes. Beta male. I watched Snow White and wondered if someday my prince would come…he found her in springtime when the cherry blossoms began to fall…it’s April 1st…cherry blossom season here in NJ.
I don’t know when I’ll meet a guy that I want to bake a pie for like Grumpy, gooseberry or not. Maybe I’m just tired of dating and not finding a man who’s the right one. Maybe I wasn’t ever meant to. Not all trees bear fruit.
I’m sad for all the years that I lost. I wonder if I’m squandering them now. I don’t feel like I’m on the outside looking in. I always feel that I’m inside looking out.
When I was in my 20’s I had a boyfriend who was a photographer. It took him a year of begging; a full year before I would let him shoot nudes of me. And one day he said the right thing to me. He said that I didn’t have any idea of my beauty and that when I was 80 years old that I would look back on my photographs and maybe then finally recognize it.
I let him take nudes of me for the next year while we dated and a few times after our relationship ended. From the moment I let him my perspective changed. I looked at them and they were beautiful—but they weren’t me. They were light and shape and shadow and form but I was me; separate and aside…inside, looking out in admiration.
And there is a different appreciation for women of that age. I don’t think that I fully understood men wanting younger women up until a year or two ago. When I was in my 20’s I was attracted to men in their 20’s. In my thirty’s the same thing; ditto for 40’s. I didn’t have a perspective of what youth really meant. But I see it now when I watch the young girls I mentor; I see it when I watch the girls in their teens just on the cusp of womanhood.
Their beauty lies in their innocence. Their lightness, their giggles; they live in a world where life hasn’t disappointed them where hope and optimism live in the steadfast belief that their prince will come.
That there will, of course be white steeds and castles and happily ever afters. Where it takes nothing more than a magic wishing apple and a kiss from a prince to have their dreams come true.
I think about women like Elizabeth Taylor who had multiple husbands. I wonder if they’ve had one of mine. I don’t know, maybe my standards are higher; maybe they have lesser expectations. Maybe they’ve learned to say that he’s not perfect, but he’s perfect for me. Maybe I love at a deeper level. Maybe it comes down to luck and a kind I didn’t have. Maybe we’ve passed each other on the street, maybe we didn’t.
What I do know is that I keep moving and I hate to move. Every time I do it’s more torturous than the last and I don’t ever want to do it again. I keep moving because no where feels like home. I’m wandering aimlessly and I don’t know if I have a date with destiny elsewhere or there will be a lifetime of an endless search for a pair of arms that will finally feel like I’m home. Where I want to fall asleep listening to his heartbeat and wake up with the warmth of his body wrapped around me. I’m heading to sleep tonight a princess without a king; a princess without a castle.
p.s. Dopey was my favorite! He reminded me of Teller of Penn and Teller...
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