Note to self: never look in the mirror only minutes after watching footage of a beautiful young woman marrying her prince. All I can say is I pity the hapless bride who had chosen the same weekend for her wedding.
Every woman should enjoy the feeling of being princess for a day, because odds are it's a once in a lifetime proposition. I'd imagine it gets old by the second or third time around. Kate will probably feel like a princess for longer than the rest of us do; if everyone continued to call me Princess Jill I'd probably live life feeling royal. But alas, given the moniker ascribed to me more often than not since my wedding day, I tend to live life feeling like a royal bitch.
As my friend so eloquently put it in a voicemail message after watching the nuptials, everything was "so fucking perfect it was disgusting." Indeed it was. But aren't all weddings that way? If only marriages were. For those of us who make it past the seven year itch, perfection is the stuff of fairy tales. And if you manage to plod along, pushing enough shit under the rug to make it to the twenty year oozing sore, perfection returns -- albeit under the guise of perfectly awful. Ironic, huh?
Well, I think we all know what happens when you let an oozing sore fester. And, so it was with my marriage, which became as numb and dead as a gangrenous limb. Which makes the pseudo perfection of the wedding day or the rockiness of the seven year itch or even the oozing twenty year sore seem like wonderful, distant memories that are impossible to recapture. Especially after you make the decision to amputate.
Back to the mirror, but not for a few days at least. There's nothing like the indelible image in your brain of a real life beautiful perfect princess to make you feel like a haggard old crone. And sometimes it's tough to know what's real, and what's an illusion.
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