Cindi Madsen - Cinderella Screwed Me Over

Cinderella screwed me over. And really, she doesnt deserve all the blame. Jasmine, Ariel, Belle, Sleeping Beautywhatever her real name was, she had, like, three of themthey all added to it. This idea of happily ever after. Of finding Prince Charming.

If you rewatch Cinderella now, youll realize there are some similarities between Prince Charming and the guys youve dated. Cute, charismatic, and kind of lazy. After all, what did the prince in Cinderella really do? He danced with Cinderella, thought she was pretty, and picked up her shoe.

Then, did he go after her? Nope. He sent the duke. Youd think if he were as in love as he claimed, he wouldve gone himself. Instead he was, like, Well, as long as her foots that small, shell probably be about right for me. Thats whats sold to us. Forced down our throats as one of the greatest romances of all time.

The brainwashing starts at about two or three years old, when you first hear fairy tales about princesses, castles, ball gowns, and everybody living happily ever after. Its no wonder that by sixteen, youre shocked when your boyfriend cares more about looking cool or copping a feel than sweeping you off your feet. So you tell yourself itll get better when youre older.

Then you get older.

You remain optimistic, because you watch romantic comedies nowtheyve become your new, more realistic fairy tales. You see lovey-dovey couples everywhere you go, proving that romance is still out there. Around the early- to midtwenties, some of your friends start getting married. You keep waiting for it to happen to you.

I waited. And waited. But the more dating experience I got, the more I realized that guys arent princes and love fades, replaced with either mediocre feelings or full-on contempt. I looked back at my relationships and noticed my dating life had been more like Con Air than Cinderellayou know, bumpy and full of bad guys.

Still, I tried to stay positive. Kept hoping the right guy was out there. I dated every man in the citywell, not literally, but after a while they all started to blur together. Dating became this sadistic ritual that always ended the same waydisappointment. With each bad date, each failed relationship, I grew more and more cynical.

It was on my twenty-sixth birthday that it finally hit me: Love is bullshit. There was no happily ever after.

I swore off men and threw myself into work. I started spending lots of money on shoes. A pair of great heels was much more satisfying than a man. They lasted longer, and better yet, they didnt leave me for someone prettier.

Sure, there were some lonely nights when I wished I had someone to talk to. So Id stroll past the pet shop and wonder exactly how much that kitty in the window was. On more than one occasion Id been tempted to buy myself a furry companion. But I wasnt quite ready to be the crazy cat lady. I was saving that for my forties.

At twenty-eight, I had a relapse. I fell in love; I was sure it was meant to be. But then it ended and I was left brokenhearted. Again. Youd think, after all the disastrous relationships Id been through, Id know better. That I wouldnt be crushed in the end. But as all history teachers say, those who dont learn from history are doomed to repeat it. So right then and there I recommitted to my previous decision that two people couldnt really work it out. I also watched a few of the friends whod gotten married in their early twenties get divorced, which only reaffirmed my decision.

Thats why, at thirty years old, Im a year sober from love, fairy tales, and happy endings. And its not so bad.

Really.

If I had a theme songand I totally shouldit would be one of those power ballads about being an independent woman and not needing a guy. Thats the mood I was rocking tonight. Today was a big milestone for me.

A cool, air-conditioned breeze washed over me as I stepped into the restaurant. My best friend, Stephanie, was already there, and, of course, she was on the phone. She probably hadnt even checked in yet. Lucky for her, I love her as much as her phone-dependent fianc does.

I walked up to the hostess. She was obviously new, because I didnt recognize her, and I ate here more than I did at my own place. Darby Quinn, party of two.

She ran a finger down her list, made a checkmark with her pen, then smiled at me. Give us just a minute, Ms. Quinn, and Ill have someone show you to your table.

I glanced back at Stephanie, who looked like she was talking into thin air. I understand, Stephanie was saying. But shes your mom. Youll have to talk to her about it. Underneath her pale curtain of hair, she had her Bluetooth earpiece on. Her gaze caught mine and she held up a finger.

One minute, my butt.

Stephanie and I were often mistaken for sisters. We had the same blond hairmine was naturally straight, whereas she was a slave to her flat ironsame hazel eyes, and after fifteen years of hanging out together, wed developed similar mannerisms. Though she was far more detail-oriented than I was. Perfectionist was an understatement, but it worked out well for her. Who wants to hire a sloppy accountant?

Hi, Darby, Mindy, my usual hostess, said as she walked up to the front. She grabbed two menus. How are you doing today?

Im well, thanks. I raised my voice and looked at Steph. If I could just get my friend off the phone, since shes supposed to be hanging out with me, Id be even better.

Stephanie stuck out her tongue. Okay, honey, Ive gotta go. Ill see you at home. Pause. I dont know, a few hours. Pause. Love you, too. She pushed the button on her earpiece, disconnecting the call, then smiled at me. Im all yours.

Steph and I followed Mindy through Blue. The place was a mix of espresso-colored wood, white, and dark blue. Miniature lamps lit the tables, casting a soft bluish glow. Blue was my favorite restaurant in Denver. My favorite restaurant anywhere, actually.

The fact that it was five minutes from my building and about ten from Metamorphosis Interior Designs, where I worked as an interior designer, made it even better.

As soon as Stephanie and I were settled into a table in the corner, she picked up her menu. So what are we celebrating again?

I took the white cloth napkin off the table and placed it on my lap. Its been a year since Ive had my heart broken. No more relapses.

Oh, thats right. Stephanie shook her head. Youre celebrating your jaded stance on men.

I prefer the term realistic, thank you very much. Im just a girl who realizes love is not only overrated but downright impractical.

For the past year, anyway.

Right, I said. Before that I was miserable.

You werent miserable the entire time. You had happy moments, too.

Thats my point. Im not saying I wont find a guy to have a few happy months with here and there, but I realize now thats enough for me. No future. No big wedding. No forever. Just low-risk here and now.

Stephanie frowned. I cant believe my maid of honor doesnt believe in love. Please dont tell my mom.

Well, you and Anthony are an exception.

I thought you said there are no exceptions.

I smiled. I did. But not to my best friend whos getting married in two months. That would just be cruel. Honestly, I hoped she and Anthony were an exception. If anyone deserved happiness, Steph did.

What about that saying? Steph tapped a finger to her lips. No man is an island.

No man is an island because hed never survive. Men are like overgrown babies. Women, on the other handwell, without men, I think wed be relatively problem-free. I could totally be an island.