KISSING FROGS

I recall my childhood annoyance with the insipid princesses in the fairy tales that languished about waiting for men to rescue them. My sister loved to read the stories to me, but I would interrupt her with questions like, “Why didn’t she just climb out of the tower herself?”. My ribbons and bows older sister would shake her head at me, barely moving her perfect black drindles and patiently try to explain the concept of passive femininity to me. One look at my unkempt braids and tomboy attire should have been enough to make her realize she was out of her depth, but she was patient, and sweet, the perfect princess. As soon as I could escape, I would head out the door to go run wild with the boys, leaving her there to play with her dolls and tea set. The little cul-de-sac we lived on was home to a higher population of boys than girls, and I was younger than all of them. They gave no deference to my age or sex and I asked for none. I was the first up for any rough and tumble game, but I refused to play the victim like they thought little girls should.

I did eventually learn that there were some advantages to being a girl, but that came later. Even in High School while all the other sweet young things were talking about what color they wanted their bridesmaids dresses to be, and conferring on china and crystal patterns, I would fain polite interest, but was totally clueless as to why these things were important. At the start of sophomore year a new boy appeared in my English class. He was considerable older looking than the other guys, and I soon found out it was because he had been held back, twice actually. He was a just a good old country boy, not in his element in school, but cute and funny with a habit of winking at girls. I was trying to ignore him, but I began to notice on a semiconscious level that he smelled really good. I quite sure they had not taught us anything about pheromones in biology, but I do know they were getting to me. He actually got up the nerve to ask me out, but was so overwhelmed by my parent’s money and my sweet innocence, he couldn’t even get up the nerve to try and kiss me. He just spent the entire evening repeating that he couldn’t believe I accepted. That’s the day I realized that as cute as he was, I really didn’t get turned on by dumb guys, but I definitely did get turned on by guys.

As the years went by I tried my luck at kissing frogs, but all that happened was that I began to develop a deep suspicion as to the intelligence of princes. All that racing about on horses and foolhardy bravado left me cold, not to mention the fact that they were infuriated when they found I had already killed or even tamed the dragon while they were sharpening up their swords. After the first disastrous marriage, I was certain I didn’t want to get tangled up with another man, but still, they smelled so good. Evidently I did too, because when I started playing the game with the boys, doors were flung open in my path. Of course I got into trouble when I started playing by their rules. I was always puzzled and amazed that a man would take a cavalier attitude with me in the morning after a night of passion, like what I did with him was different than what he did with me. The men I liked best were the smart ones who figured me out and still decided I was worth the effort. I can play the games with the best of them, but how tiresome that becomes after a very short time. I know I am an anomaly in the world of women and I am at a loss to describe my attitude, but I suppose the closest I could come would be to say I think like a man. The analogy is limited because no one meeting me would ever question my decidedly feminine qualities.

There was also a complication in the form of the real love of my life, the little spring lamb that changed all my previous theories about what was important in the world. For a little girl whose dolls were all given bad haircuts, stripped of their clothing, and tossed into the back of the closet, while she went off to swing from the hayloft and get into her brother’s chemistry set, I took amazingly well to motherhood. With twenty-twenty hindsight I realize that the leap I took back into marriage was driven in large part by biological imperative. Being a mother suited me well, and while my first husband grumbled to my expanding belly about the world being overpopulated, my second had the same nurturing instinct as myself, despite all his other issues. He was also financially stable, very smart, and had a great sense of humor. It’s really not as simple as saying I compromised after a calculating the odds of the hand, but it did go down something like that.

I pride myself on my logic, and while I have made a great number of decisions on the basis of cool-headed calculation of the odds, I have made an equal number on intuition, often driven by passion. I have made mistakes both ways. I think graceful exits are the most satisfying and I have always tried to make them with style. Many men have left my door wanting more, but still believing it was all their idea to go. I don’t know how this one is going to play out, but I’m working very hard to keep it clean and painless.