Fairy God-God, can we talk about this whole: 'I'm sending you to a ball' thing? Um. I'm not sure you picked the right girl. You see. I'm just not the Cinderella type. I'm the fighting type. When other girls were up in the tower waiting to be rescued, I had a stick in my hand that I was pretending was a horse and another stick that was my sword and by God- er- by you- I wasn't going to let some BOY beat me to the rescue.
Remember the kindergarten race? How I came in third and the teacher beamed excitedly that I was number one because the ridiculous idiot seemed to think I wanted to hear that I was the first girl to cross the finish line. If I remember correctly all three feet of me got up in that guy's grill and sternly informed him that I was third, thank you, and next year I would be first.
In fact, just about the only princess story I've ever really liked was Disney's recent "Brave" because that fiery little girl was me to a 't.' That and I really want a bow and arrow set. So I can be ready for the apocalypse. That I am convinced is going to include zombies. But that's another post. Anyway.
The first few times you whispered the thought that I should go into my quirky little brain I brushed it off. Then, when my plans changed at the last minute to suddenly include a road trip up to Kansas I wrote off going entirely as I knew we wouldn't have the money. So what did you do? You invited us anyway through a sweet lady who offered us free tickets.
Oh I tried to come up with reasons not to go still, like 'Wah! I got nothing to wear cause of this lovely little pooch I've acquired from all this comfort eating.' So another sweet lady offered her dress. And it was perfect. A lovely deep purple with hints of gold. Have I told you how much I love purple and gold? (Oh, right, you have that whole omnipotent thing going on...)
Then when the babysitter we had lined up got the flu I threw up my hands, somewhat dramatically, and declared that it sure would have been fun to go. My husband rolled his eyes. And found another babysitter in about thirty minutes, which in the history of our almost seven years of being people with kids has happened exactly never.
So there I was, sitting at a prettily decorated table with some old friends, some new friends and some complete strangers but best of all next to my beloved. Who shaved his freaking beard for me! It was in full blown Duck Dynasty mode and the buzzing sound of the trimmer went on for a good fifteen minutes. Sneakily he called to me to come see how it looked when he still a good coat of stubble left. Well played, I thought, for I'm the biggest sucker in the world for stubble. But still. I could see the man that I love's face which is something I haven't seen in two years and then only for a week or so as his grandmother had talked him into shaving it for Christmas.
Leaning over to me, all stubbly and sexy, (and let's just pretend you didn't hear me just say the word 'sexy' cause I kind of forgot I was still talking to the Almighty...) he whispered to me with those smoldering green eyes smoking, "you know, we still haven't danced..."
I nod enthusiastically. Because he doesn't just mean we haven't danced tonight, or this year even, he means we haven't danced ever. At least not really. For when we were dating and my friend invited us out dancing I had just broken my foot. So I sat perched on a stool while he danced around it for me. A crowd formed around us leaving a little half moon space for him to throw in some breakdancing moves. Part of me thinks that was the night that I just fell head over heels for him.
Then we set up a room for dancing at our wedding but completely forgot it existed and gave it no thought whatsoever until we were on the highway heading to our honeymoon. Next there were weddings and such and for at least one event, wouldn't you know it, I went and broke the other foot. He danced for me again, drawing a little crowd that again formed a half circle, and I marveled at my talented husband.
Earlier this year, by God-er- by you, I swore I was going to dance at a friend's wedding but then I got the Bermuda Triangle of breathing sicknesses and I had doctor's orders to stay home. I wept. Watched really bad wedding movies. And the you were really sweet to me and we talked, about what I'll save for another post, but still no chance to dance with my husband. Oh we've had a couple little moments padding around the kitchen or something, but not a real dance where we were all dressed up and out in front of you and everybody.
So we danced. We even braved the dance floor when it practically cleared and I wanted to panic just a bit as suddenly I couldn't hide in the crowd of dancers anymore. He did it again, charming the room, and for all the world I wanted a stool to sit on and a cast on my foot again but instead I just tried to stay out of way while I did the eighth grade sway.
This man you have given me is my teammate, my helpmate and my soulmate and he is completely perfect for me. You are the orchestrater of all things good. You knew this stressed out little warrior girl just needed to dance with her shining prince husband. That she would still have two left feet, but nobody would be looking at her anyway while he was doing his thang so it would be all... good.
We came home with trinkets and stories and memories. Maybe, just maybe, I'll let you be my fairy God-God again. And for some reason each time I typed that I pictured Larry the Cable Guy in a too-small pink tutu flying around with fairy wings. Now, you're picturing it too aren't you?