Prince Charming Isn’t Just In Fairytales

The shimmery gray dress nipped at her ankles, skirting the tops of her feet with a sassiness.  It had been an easy find, unique and affordable.   It brought out her inner Roman goddess, accentuating all of her attributes and masking the flaws.  

A company Christmas party.    What could and should be expected?   What was the protocol?  Who was there to impress?  It didn’t matter because this night allowed her to step inside of her comfort zone, to be someone that she wasn’t during the 9-5 monotony of Corporate America.   This was her night to be herself.  

Company Christmas parties…what was the protocol?   Bring a date or go solo?   In the end, she talked her roommate into coming along.   They agreed on a few hours at the buttoned up Corporate America shindig before heading out to a much more laid back, casual atmosphere of a friend’s Christmas party.  

Her clear acrylic heels adorned with rhinestones clicked on the staircase as she made her way to the next party.   The shoes elevated her normal 6 foot frame allowing her to look out above the masses.  She was at ease, all pretenses of being someone else released its hold upon her and exited through the closing door after gently taking a bow.   She smiled as she was relieved of her shackles of dissimilation and could be with her friends, her chosen family, her village.  

The drinks flowed, the music caressed her soul, and the card games stripped her of any monetary satisfaction, but she was content.   Her body melted into the sofa as she engaged in friendly banter among her co-partiers.   The evening was quickly becoming a propitiation to what had been a mentally taxing week, and just when she thought the night could not become more blissful, the door across the room opened.  

A trio of males, past the age of being called boys, but still exuding a slight level of immatuturity that prevented them from being referred to as men, entered the apartment.   They were all strangers to her, not one face exuding any sense of familiarity and just when she decided that the three were too mundane to warrant anymore of her curiosity, the third one came into view.  

He was tall, dark, and handsome.  Every fairytale cliché of Prince Charming was wrapped up into him.   Tragic love stories were written about him, with tortured hearts and damsels in distress.   It was at that moment in time, with the opening of that door, that her life would change forever.  From that point forward in life, each step, each decision would be made with a new perspective.  

Did he see her?   Could he sense the quivers in her belly, the skipping of her heart beat?   Could he possibly notice her, one girl in a sea of beautiful women?  

She should look away, she thought to herself.   How mortifying would it be if he caught her staring, but she couldn’t tear herself away from watching him glide into the room, a smile spreading across his face as he met each person.   He was tall, black hair, with a slight little cleft in his chin.   He was broad shouldered, muscles clearly seen beneath the sleeves of his shirt.   He was the exact opposite of the skinny, non-athletic nerdy types she’d always been attracted to.   He couldn’t possibly be interested in her.  

Finally she decided it was time to look away, to not be quite so obvious, but it was a little too late.  He’d seen her and shock of all shocks, he was walking over to her.  

He introduced himself and she reciprocated.   He took a seat alongside her on the couch and the conversations never seemed to lull.   There was always something to talk about, something funny to be told, and there was no place else either one of them could imagine being at that very moment in time.     

As the night waned, many of the partiers, her roommate included, decided to go elsewhere.   She uncrossed her legs and begin to rise, in doing so she lost one of her shoes.   At that moment, he knelt down and while grabbing the shoe, he cupped one hand behind her shin and slid the shoe back onto her foot.  

“It looks like Cinderella lost her glass slipper,” he said with a smile and that is how the greatest love story came to fruition in 2003.

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I Do Want To Love Myself

I don’t enjoy feeling this way. I really loathe it. I want to be happy and I know I can be, I’m just not really sure how to get there. You see, I’m my own worst critic. I have probably the world’s greatest self-deprecating personality. I am NEVER good enough for myself, and I really want to move past this. I just don’t know how.

Perhaps I put too much into my physical appearance, but it’s been almost a year since Henry’s birth and I can’t seem to get my body back into shape. I have a gut, hips, and thighs that are larger than they’ve ever been. I have a butt! When I was younger (high school) and was 120 pounds (70 pounds lighter than I am now), I would have killed for some curves. At 6 feet tall, I was the butt (pun intended) of every joke around for being such a stick. Now? I would just love to lose 20 pounds.

I’ve never had an issue with losing weight or being thin, so I suppose this is why I’m angered so much. I envy my younger self. I envy those on television and in magazines who are older than me, are not stick thin, but can own it and be the most beautiful women in the world. I envy their abilities to let it go and embrace themselves. I’m 8 months shy of hitting that 40 year old mark and I don’t want to go into my 40s being sad and depressed.

Tuesday night, I had a Christmas party to attend. I spent an hour trying on clothes, before finally settling on what I felt to be the frumpiest outfit ever created. I started crying and of course my husband tells me I’m not fat and that I’m beautiful. He’s suppose to say that so how can I really trust him? “Who are you?” I thought as I looked at myself in the mirror. I was once the envy of so many others, and now? Well, now, I’m just average, and my personality has never allowed me to settle with average.

I told my husband it was great that I didn’t work because it would cost us too much money for me to go back to work. All of my old clothing from my Corporate America days no longer fit! I would need to buy a whole new wardrobe and that would pretty much negate the reasons for returning to work…needing more money.

I genuinely wish that I could happily look at myself in the mirror and be proud of how I look. These curves and stretch marks are thanks to two of the greatest gifts in this world…my sons. If I had my old body, then it’s likely I wouldn’t have them. They are totally worth it and I’m grateful that at least they’re the reason for my body metamorphosis. I work hard to try to relieve myself of some of this added weight, but nothing is working.

I trained for two triathlons and a half marathon over the past year! I can do more than I did before having kids, but I can’t seem to get rid of the weight. I actually shaved 20 minutes off my overall time on my last half marathon, and yet I’m still 20 pounds heavier than I was from the first one. It’s not muscle, folks, so don’t start down that path.

I know what my issue is, at least within the weight loss arena, and it’s my inability to get rid of the sugar and flour in my diet. I wrote a post a few weeks back about the harmful effects of sugar, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot expunge it from my life. I want to have my cups of coffee. I want to have the occasional treat. I don’t buy any sort of candies or cookies because I don’t want to deal with that temptation, but I can’t give up my coffee. I just can’t.

Five years ago, when I was at my thinnest and healthiest since high school, I was working at a corporation that provided lunches and snacks on a daily basis. These snacks consisted of ice cream, chips and dip, and even some of the yummiest cupcakes I’ve ever had. I only ran 3 miles a day back then (way less than I do now) and I was a size 10! Perfect for my 6 foot frame. I was even drinking a Starbucks venti mocha TWICE a day. These days? I treat myself once a week to a mocha and I ask for it to be skinny, and my coffee no longer has sugar, but instead splenda and I drink way less of it now than I did back then. I don’t drink sodas (which I did then) and I drink more water. So what gives? Really, what gives?

I would love to be one of those women who is able to name her stretch marks and rolls of fat. I’d love to be able to say, “Regina Roll,” while pointing at my belly, “you’re here because of Davey and for that I love you.” It’s just not going to happen and I don’t know what to do.

Part of me says it’s a losing battle especially around the holidays, but I can’t give in. I can’t let all the yummy and unhealthy foods readily available right now push me over the edge.

Maybe one of these days, I’ll be happy with how I look. Maybe one of these days I won’t “believe” I’m feeling the stares of other people around me for being fat. Maybe one of these days I’ll just accept that this is a part of life. Maybe one of these days, I’ll just destroy every mirror in my house. Or maybe one of these days, I’ll learn to love myself the way God does.