Take the Time to Read This if You've Ever Hated Men.

                       
This is for the good ones...

Setting up the scene:
                    Me and my little 5'1" self are climbing aboard a train to take me from New York City to Hartford to see my family in Massachusetts, after spending a wonderful three days with Leading Man and his family. I am sweating and panicked because I thought I missed my train. Of course, since I'm Super Blonde, and Super Blonde doesn't travel with luggage that weighs less than her, I am struggling, unsuccessfully, to load my HUGE suitcase into the racks above the seats. I see the slightly hipster looking guy in the seat behind mine slowly remove his headphones, put up his tray, and slip on his shoes. He quietly gets out of his seat, gently grabs my suitcase, and without a word, lifts it into the rack. I stood there open jawed for a minute, caught myself, and thanked him profusely. I honestly hadn't expected the gesture. I know what skeptics are thinking: he wanted to hit on me, etc. But, no. He did it, settled down into his seat, and didn't speak to me again. I settled into my seat and put on some music reflecting on the occurrence. It got me thinking about the opposite sex...

                 Admittedly, I do a lot of shit talking about men. Call me a bitter, hardened, man hating woman if you'd like...but I wasn't always this way. It took a long time to get me to the point I got to. I remember the first time I ever had a cavity filled, the dentist kept remarking on how I must have eaten way too much sugar, too frequently, over too long a time period to get my teeth where they were. Although he was a bit harsh (like hell was I ever going back to that butcher), he was right. And its the same story with me and the opposite sex.
                  I used to trust. I used to think that all men were like my daddy: honest, loving, trustworthy, and always had my best interests at heart. Not true. It turns out, Prince Charming was like Santa Claus. Mythical. I was not the princess. There was no one coming to rescue me. I realized this years ago. After way too many heartbreaks and let downs, I really lost all faith in anything with more appendages than I had. So, I woke myself up, wiped my tears, and decided to be done with the myth.
And I rescued myself.
       I am the hero in the fairy tale of my life.
                  I treated myself the way I'd always hoped to be treated by a man. I bought myself thoughtful gifts. I surprised myself with a tiny, sweet, wriggling puppy. I told myself I was beautiful, and never spoke harshly toward my body or mind. I packed up my belongings and fulfilled my lifelong dream of moving to sunny California. I decided not to date, kiss, or have any other relationship with a man. And I didn't for quite a long time.

And magically, because the pressure was off to look for a man to make me feel the way I felt, I met the man of my dreams when I least expected it.

Except he's the man of my reality.

                   He tells me I'm beautiful every single day. He holds doors, and lets me go first. He opens car doors for me. He always gets the food I love at the grocery store (Greek yogurt, bananas, and smart water every day), and he insists that I take the very best bite of whatever he's eating (if you know men, you know  that's love). He anticipates the way I might be feeling in any given situation, holds my hand, looks in my eyes, and reassures me that he loves me, and that I can trust him. He invites me every single place he goes, and I never feel like an inconvenience. We have picnics on the beach at sunset with champagne. We drive aimlessly. We drink wine and talk for hours. We laugh so hard that we lose our breath.

And he never lets go of my hand.
                And his hands - they're always warm.
                            And, best of all, he picked me.

                  This man, he isn't perfect. He knows where his faults lie. We bicker. Sometimes we fight. He gets under my skin for doing the things men do. But, God knows I'm not perfect either. I have faults. And though we may not always agree, he has never disrespected me. He made a promise to never, ever hurt me, and he's kept that promise.
                  And now that I have the reality, those fairy tale bitches can keep their perfect princes. This princess doesn't want them. I want the one who makes me laugh so hard I cry. The one who sometimes makes mistakes, because those mistakes make him so much more beautiful and real to me. The one who has taken all of the brick walls I spent so long building around me, and instead of plowing through them, quietly plucked brick by brick down so gently. The one who has made me realize there are still good men out there.
                 So, I suppose mister suitcase lifter on the train served as a wake up. This bitter blonde has turned into a believer. And it wasn't a man who made me into a believer. It was me. I had to take care of myself and love me before anyone else could.

So LADIES, stop searching for Prince Charming. He's in the mirror looking back at you. He has your hands, your thoughts, your wit, your eyes, your lips, your thighs. You are Prince Charming. Now, wipe your tears, dust yourself off, and rescue yourself.



Ditch the fairy tale, and make room for the real men.