HAPPILY EVER AFTER!

Once upon a time lived a deluded Disney Princess, who had a wrinkle-free face that always had a smile on it because she had no clue what was really going on in the world.
     Her only desire/goal/ambition/aspiration/prayer/yearning/begging/determination was to find a Prince Charming to get married to.
     POOF!
     And the Fairy-God-Mother clad Universe granted her wish (because The Secret says if you want something badly enough for long enough you will eventually get it... or something like that).
     Anyway, so it happened: the Disney Princess met her handsome Prince Charming, had the big plush wedding and lived happily ever after... until about six days after they returned from their honeymoon.
     That's when the Disney Princess discovered that Prince Charming had to go to work to fund her lifestyle, and she was left home alone all day with the vacuum and her thoughts... then later in her marriage, the diminishing bottles of wine and packets of Marlborough Lites.
     This is because nobody warned the Disney Princess that the “Wedding” and the “Marriage” are only used synonymously by real hard core romantics (who themselves have never been married).

Wed-ber's Definition of Wedding:

“Paying thousands of (name your currency) to feel special and perfect and overindulged for one day without ridicule”.

Wed-ber's Definition of Marriage:

“Realizing that the person who seemed perfect at the wedding actually does all the things that you do like fart, grow hair, cost money, smell, eat, snore, get dirty, have needs, make demands and have an opinion”.

It is usually at this point that a Disney Princess decides to become a Real Housewife... because Disney kicks them out once they stop smiling and start complaining.

Ella Roberts,

www.ellasbooks.blogspot.com.com

 

WHAT IS PERFECT ANYMORE?

As a teenager I was an awkward little lump, with big eyes, big lips, thick knees and a drowning sensation into the shame of being me!
     Plus, it always seemed like I was surrounded by pretty people.
     You know the types who flutter around life with effortless grace, while all my round self could do was waddle.
     Of course this twisted reality of teenage-dom has resulted in my inability to stop believing that anyone who has beautifully shiny hair, perfectly applied make-up and a flawless silhouette without the presence of Spanx has no problems in the world.
     I think this is why I still watch The Real Housewives; I'm waiting for an announcement that all the drama isn't real.
     So I nearly fainted recently when I tripped over a piece of information that severely bothered me when it should have actually soothed me:
     Not everyone who portrays herself as such is perfect!
     “Well duh!” you say.
     But you see, I am the forgiving individual who will not question whether those freakishly large E-cup boobs on a size 4 frame are real or whether those lips that look suspiciously like dead animals are collagen injected.
     However, when I walked in on one of the Mrs. Perfects that I know personally while she was changing, I saw a naked truth that destroyed my illusion.
     Like me, she had thighs that touch, two stomachs and an extra set of elbows for boobs!
     I used to idolize this woman.
     I used to skip dessert and exercise with the hope that one day I would look like her, only to find out that she looks like me!
     Now what am I supposed to do with this information?

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com