There lived a princess who loved life. She was vivacious, and ambitious, happy and a little bit chubby. She would often give long ambling speeches to anyone who would listen about how happy she was. She had the perfect relationship, the perfect 2 bedroom flat and just enough money in her bank account. She went on luxurious holidays spending her days sipping martinis and lazing by the pool. Occasionally she would shop, all her money being spent on beautiful clothes and handbags all for herself. She would often wander around her kingdom gently humming to herself and pondering life’s little nuances like she had all the time in the world.
And then she woke up to the sound of a drunken stumble entering the bedroom, and realised with a sinking heart, she had no money, was more than ‘a little bit chubby’ and her husband had obviously been sticking his pencil in somebody else’s sharpener.
I have never been married to a golfer, a footballer or a rich celebrity type. I have never been hounded by the press. I have never been voted ‘most gorgeous ass 2009.’ (Although to be honest they missed a trick on that one. My arse is something to behold let me tell you. Something big to behold. Anyways..) I have however, been cheated on in the past. So feel that in some way I can relate to some of the ladies in the press in a small way.
I was dating a pilot. (Do I need to go on or can you guess what happened?) Apparently a bright orange uniform and too much make up did it for him in a big way. Not that I knew. Although I don’t own anything orange so never had the chance to find out… We had been together for a lovely 2 years when I found out he had been shagging all and sundry behind my back. I was humiliated in a big way, as it turned out most of our friends had been aware of this. I blamed myself for a while and it was truly awful. Even though we had no children, no responsibilities other than a mortgage and a dog, we did have what I thought was ‘the perfect’ relationship. Now for me, personally, there was no coming back from that, or those, particular acts of unfaithfulness. That relationship was dead the second he admitted to countless acts of indiscretion at 32 thousand feet. (I use the word admitted loosely here, it was more of a ‘blood from a stone’ scenario, involving a large stiletto and a lot of tackling.) I now refuse to fly with ‘sleazy jet’ as honestly? If their pilots spend so much time in cubicle one? Who the hell is flying the plane?? But anyways.. there you go. The trust was gone. And so was he. (I kept the dog.)
As a child I whole heartedly believed that one day my prince would come, so to speak. And that no matter what happened, somewhere out there, under the deep blue sky, was a man that would whisk me away and I would live my happily ever after. And even though that particular short arse, smelly footed, small dicked prince ran off with another (unlucky) princess. I still never really gave up believing that one day my prince would come. (teehee, ok sorry ill stop now.) So when Sir Fucksalot Chlamydia Willy (as I now refer to him) ran off with Princess Ms. Sucksalotofcocks, he actually did me a favour as it hardened my resolve (ooer missus. Sorry don’t know what’s up with me today) that I was living my real life fairytale.
Did it hurt at the time? Yes. Did I get drunk and listen to Sinead O’Connor at 4am while warbling on to anybody who would listen about how I would make him regret it? Yes. Did I eat too much ice cream, pizza and MacDonald’s and endlessly dream of him ploughing a single man craft in to the side of a cliff? Yes. Did that mean my life was over? No it didn’t. Did that mean I wouldn’t get my ‘happily ever after?’ No it didn’t.
I got to the point after a lot of soul searching where I vowed I would enjoy my continuing search for my happily ever after. Which also meant in the meantime I could enjoy the fairytale of rebound, the fairytale of drunken nights single, the fairytale of enjoying me and all that I am, and the fairytale of finally meeting someone else and thinking ooo could this be it, this time? And this of course proceeded…
The fairytale of first words with the new hottie in the office, first hidden glances, first emails, (the digital age eh? If only the beast had IM’d a photo to Belle first.) Followed by first dates, first kisses, first rambling midnight phone calls, first holidays, first ‘I love you’s’ and first ‘ OK you’re doing my head in now’s’. Followed by first night in the bedroom (ahem, yes I always wait that long) and the first morning sex. NB- for the record this only happens at the start. Followed by the first ‘did you just have a wee in front of me? Im in the bloody bath!’ and then the ultimate ‘oh my god my period is late’…. and before you know it. You have a house, a mortgage, a baby boy and other than the odd bout of post natal depression fog you are blissfully happy… ..ish.
And if this one cheats on me? I may forgive and forget, I may leave him, or I may do a Mrs. Bobbit and chop his nads off. But either way I will keep going, keep living, keep fighting and keep searching for the happily ever after I was promised..
I don’t have any advice for Cheryl Cole, Coleen McLaughlin or Pam who lives at number 42. All I can say is do what’s right for you. It will all work out one way or another. In the end.
And really it’s nobody’s business but your own. Do you think Cinderella asked the fairy godmother for her opinion after prince charming was caught in the back of the pumpkin with an ugly sister? (See Cinders the untold story.) Nope she stayed with him, or may have left him, I can’t remember. But either way. She lived happily ever after.