As a female living in 2017, if people were to know that I’m still waiting to be rescued, I’d probably be shot, or stoned, or given a giant scarlet “P” to wear on my dress for “Pathetic”.
Being rescued is so yesterday. Women don’t need to be rescued anymore – they can rescue themselves.
I often thought that rescuing myself sounded more cliché than being rescued by an actual prince. Rescue myself…who wants to do that? And what does that even mean? And why do we want or even need to be rescued at all?
The reason why girls grow up believing they are going to be rescued is because that is what they are told starting at a very young age. Thanks to childhood friends like Cinderella and Snow White, I truly did believe I was going to grow up and be rescued by my very own version of Prince Charming. It was just a matter of time.
And then it was a matter of more time. And even more time. And…well…I’m still waiting.
Growing up, I really did think I was going to turn twenty-four and automatically be married with kids, happily raising my family in my dream house while juggling my career as an incredibly famous and wealthy published author.
So…I was a little off.
What am I saying? I wasn’t even close. And what’s even more ridiculous, nearly twenty years after passing my “rescue age”, I still secretly wish for that same darn fantasy…the same one I was told when I was five years old!
(Sometimes I’m allowed to switchout my scarlet “P” with a scarlet “D”…for “Delusional”.)
I feel like I’ve done everything I was supposed to do to attract my prince, including kissing more than my share of frogs. (Yuck!) I’m cute, intelligent, have a good sense of humor, I like sports and beer… With that said, where the bleep is he? Was he hit by a bus before we were to meet? Did he fall into a well? Did some other pathetic and delusional woman intercept him before he got to me?
I just don’t get it. It’s not fair. I’ve been waiting and waiting…again, where the BLEEP is he???
