When I was a little girl I was notorious for locking myself in my room and disappearing into my own little worlds. My dad used to make fun of me and the common joke around the house was:
"Where is Colleen?"
"Oh she is just in her own little mouse hole."
My mouse hole was pretty magical...(that's what she said.)
But really though, it was. In there I was able to be the sassiest Spice Girl I could be. I starred in thousands of gripping and tragic episodes of Rescue 911. Sometimes I was Celine Dion, sometimes I was Whitney, sometimes I was Annie Lennox and most times I was Meatloaf (circa Bat out of Hell).
This past week my thoughts have been consumed with something I forgot that I used to transform into in my mouse hole when I was a kid...
I would elaborately act out my wedding.
I know, I know...a little girl dreaming about her wedding? So original and unpredictable.
I completely forgot how often I did that when I was young. I assume it's my irrational desire to seem like an self sufficient cynic and hater of all things love, that suppressed the memory but I can't help but be charmed and a bit saddened about it in retrospect.
I would strip my "Little Mermaid" pillow case off of my pillow, carefully construct my bouquet of tissue roses, slip into my favorite red polka-dotted dress and grab my favorite teddy bear and stand in the mirror and let my imagination take hold.
My pillow case would suddenly become the most beautiful lace veil, my bouquet transformed into the most luscious and vibrant red roses, my polka-dotted dress turned into the white version of Belle's ball gown in Beauty and the Beast...and my teddy bear...oh what my teddy bear became was the most special of all. He became my very own prince and I loved him. I loved him passionately, I loved him innocently and I loved him joyously. I was my very own version of a Disney princess with my very own prince charming.
After the vows were made, the marriage sealed with a kiss on the cheek, I would put my pillow case back on, throw away the bouquet of tissues, keep the dress on (it was a really great dress), and put my bear back in his appropriate spot and I would wonder about the day I would actually be married. I just knew it was going to be the most remarkable day ever and I was so excited for it to come.
Weird how things change...
These days instead of pretending to be a future bride, I pretend like I am bad at love and that I simply don't want it. I'm just as elaborate in my pretending though, that has not changed.
For me, hiding behind a facade of the self sufficient cynic is safe, it's comfortable, it's the wall that has protected me from the unknown and the potential heartache.
For me, claiming to not believe that love or marriage is for me, claiming that I am just gonna go to a bar and have sex with the first stranger who approaches me just to prove that I don't care is easier than letting people know what I really believe and how I really want to share that physical connection with someone who I am enchanted by and that I always want to remember fondly.
So what I am trying to say is, all pretending aside, I am a hopeless romantic.
But I am. I believe in magic. I believe in soul mates. I believe that I could be special for someone. I believe I am going to love someone passionately, innocently and joyously. I believe in Prince Charming. I believe that one day soon I will be brave enough to let that little girl with the pillow case on head and tissue in hand come back into my life.
I believe that I'm gonna let my magic mouse hole shine...(yes, that's a vagina joke.)