Posted by on Mar 11, 2010 in Relationships and Sex | 0 comments


In the latest Think Tank poll, bright-eyed optimism prevailed: 60% of you proclaimed your faith in “The One”— The Soulmate. The Ricky to your Lucy. The Ross to your Rachel. The Seigfried to your Roy (don’t act like they don’t touch your heart). And to this I say bravo, ladies, though my bruised ideals aren’t quite there with you.

See, something went very wrong in my developmental years. There was no absence of a father figure, no mother who pummeled my self-esteem (at least, no more than any other mother), and no sexual identity crisis. What was it, then?

Fucking Disney.

From the tender age of zero, I was placed in front of the TV with my eyelids taped open, made to watch princess after princess live happily ever after with strapping, emotionally-available, young men that lived in castles with maids, butlers, and cooks (i.e. financially-established). Sure, this sort of destiny isn’t entirely unattainable… but surprise! These ladies were 18.

Thus, I anxiously waited through my childhood, poised to run off with Prince Charming shortly after high school graduation. By the time I reached the magic age, I was pretty certain I’d found him. And then my sister shagged him.

Refusing to let a totally earth shattering incident like that ruin my belief system, I moved on…through a few memorable (and not so) romps, until that fateful Saturday morning when I strolled up to the Beverly Hilton concierge looking for directions…

I thought I’d met him: The One, my centerpiece, my rock. He was everything that I’d always imagined him to be. Through the good times and the multiple break-ups, I truly believed we would be together forever. And then I found out he pawned off my engagement ring for a down payment on a Mercedes.

Ten years have passed since I was of Disney-designated marrying age, my belief system has been rocked, and I’m old enough now to know that a multi-billion-dollar empire built around a cartoon rodent knows nothing of reality. I’ve started taking advice from more seasoned pro’s, like Lola: “Darling, there is no One; there are Many“. Yeah…I’m starting to think that if The One hasn’t found me by now, he’s probably settled for the next best thing. Perhaps I should, too.

I hate to be the big, fat rain cloud hovering over the idealist parade. Maybe I’m just pissed off right now at the state of my love life. It’s quite possible that if Prince Charming comes along and finds my G-spot, I may start singing a different tune.

Next we ponder: Have you ever broken up with someone and later regretted it?