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THE PRINCE

THE PRINCE

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The theme of this page is a little deceiving.  I’m not some Disney Delusional, just working at a ‘job’ until I’m saved by a Prince. I’m not waiting for some man to run up to me with a pair of Swarovski Crystal, Sofia, Etoile, Gucci’s in a 35.  I bought those bitches myself.   Most little girls loved the Cinderella story for the Prince, and I loved the story for the shoes.  That, in a nutshell, describes me.

When little girls chased down little boys in the neighborhood, to play ‘wedding,’ I was ‘real life’ pissed the day I was tricked into a ‘fake’ neighborhood wedding.

I was six when the fake wedding assault happened. It was orchestrated by two wedding planners, out for revenge, or otherwise known as our older sisters. Jamie, the equally unwilling, groom, was a neighbor boy who lived up the street and was a year older than me in school.

My older sister by four years, Amy, and, Jamie’s older sister, Joanne, both decided they wanted to try out their make-up/party planning skills, or so we were told.

I apparently, couldn’t out run Amy that day, or she blackmailed me, but I can’t exactly remember how I got roped into this disaster. Jamie and I were responsible for the catering, and proceeded to make mud pies. What bride doesn’t dream of rolling around in mud moments before she marries?  Well, unless that mud was from the Montelucia Joya Spa.

Amy and Joanne put me in a dress, slapped some make up on me, and ran a brush through my hair (which was no easy task, since my mom had just given me, the oh so popular, Ogilvie* home perm).

*Fuck who still gets those things?  I just Googled it to confirm the spelling, and was sure it would have shown the date to the 1970’s but you can still pick up Ogilvie home perm at WalMart for $5.30.

Flowers pulled from the neighbor’s rose garden, were clenched in my tiny mud stained hands.  From the time Amy could walk, she pulled flowers from neighbors yards, been punished for it, often, and yet, clearly was still very undeterred.

The ‘ceremony’, thank God, only lasted about three minutes.  Five hours of prep/torture for three minutes of ceremony.  The time ratio seems about right, if you’ve ever planned a wedding.

We reached the part where Amy announced, ‘You may now kiss the bride.’  Jamie and me, high fived.  That was not enough for our wedding planner psychotic sisters.  Joanne and Amy looked at each other with the most evil look and said that we had to kiss.

We were both at the age where you are completely grossed out by the other sex.  I’d seen him eat a bug before on a dare, for Christ’s sake. And trust, I was not prize either.   We both said it was a high-five or hand shake to seal the deal or nothing.

Amy and Joanne, giggling and using their most persuasive tone, produced a mirror, and said that this, would all just end, if we kissed with the mirror between us.  Joanne said, ‘It’s not even like you’re really kissing or anything.’

I was firm in my opposition.  Amy decided to sweeten the pot and said that if I kissed Jamie with the mirror between us, that I could use her Lemon Twist.* The Lemon Twist was a mid-evil torture device/suitable toy for the 1970’s, that shackled your leg to a hard plastic lemon, that you were supposed to jump over.

Had I know then, that the Lemon Twist, actually hit your leg with enough force to not only bruise but break your leg, I probably would not have been so easily swayed to relent to their request.

 

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**http://www.mortaljourney.com/2010/12/1970-trends/lemon-twist-or-footsie-toy

‘I’m in, let’s just get this done with already,’  I said,with a very irritated tone, like I had somewhere else to be, like a cocktail party or something.

Mirror positioned by my sister half way between Jamie and myself, she announced, “On the count of three both move towards the mirror at the same time.  But make sure you close your eyes, you know, like when adults on The Love Boat* kiss.’

*The Love Boat was apparently our frame of reference for adult like kissing.

I shot her a look, like if you move that mirror, I will cut off every single Barbie head in the house.  She said, as if reading my mind, or at least body language, ‘Mel, I’m not going to move the mirror, I promise.’  She shot Joanne a sideways glance and started the countdown.

On one and two, I squinted to make sure the mirror was still there. And before I could react, on three, the mirror, was pulled up and my groom and I, both startled, opened our eyes to find that our lips were pressed together.

Horrified, by both the act of kissing a boy and the realizing the entire point of the wedding was because Amy and Joanne were bored, and wanted to make us kiss,  just for their amusement, was all too much for me to handle.

I demanded that Amy hand me the Lemon Twist, that was laying by her feet, that used so brilliantly to manipulate me into marriage.  She acquiesced, and I put the hoop that was supposed to go around your ankle around my wrist.

I looked at them both, warming up my arm like I was a pitcher for the Dodgers, and said, ‘You’d better run.’  Too late, I hit Amy in the unexposed flesh part of her arm, leaving a little lemon print and red welt.

Stunned, she looked at me, and with the classic, ‘I’m telling mom,’ I cut her off, ‘Go ahead, but you’re not telling her until after you perform the divorce.’  It apparently, dawned on her, that she’d first have to tell my mom about my unwanted lip assault.

Lessons I learned from this story:

1.  Never trust two really bored older siblings, ever. It took me a few more stories before I finally ‘learned’ that one though.

2.  I was not like other little girls who dreamt of their wedding and picking out China patterns. I would later come to think of my Prince in the terms of my career and instead of picking out China patterns I was more interested in start-ups and stock options.

3. Although, The Lemon Twist from childhood was later replaced with the plastic ‘old ball and chain’ for bachelorette parties, I think the Lemon Twist is still more fitting than the latter. I rather like the idea of chasing women, who foolishly feel they need a man to complete them or marry someone, just because they’ve reached a certain age. I would like to warm up my arm, and leave a lemon welt, on more than few arms.

4.  And probably, most importantly, people who did wrong, often, would cry foul without examining their own bad behavior.  It usually takes reminding them, but they come around, eventually. This is a common theme in business, but they seldom come around.

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