Tag Archives: Prince Charming

Real Men Eat Quiche!

OK, perhaps a bit of backtracking is in order. When I was in 5th Grade, a group of ignorant boys mimicked my walking in a school hallway, changing this young girl’s life. From that moment, I began to embrace an irrational belief that my Dystonia was somehow distasteful to the opposite sex, reinforced over time by a paucity of male friends, dates and boyfriends. Naturally, I blamed Dystonia, the obvious scapegoat for anything that pushed my life outside the “normalcy” I craved.

17841732_s EditedFortunately, my seemingly reasonable but foolish presumptions were counterbalanced by an imaginary prince who whisked me away from Scarsdale on his white horse – or via white Corvette. In the plot line of this fairy tale, my gallant chivalrously brushed aside my health issues upon gazing into my eyes, a delightful fantasy that failed to procure me a social life.

Notwithstanding a medical lifetime sentence imposed at age 8-1/2, a troop of real world princes busted me out of my childhood prison, demonstrating that eating Quiche and sensitivity to Dystonia are a real man’s prerogatives. Now I take heart in guys who treasure books for the reading and understand a wealth of imperfections keeps life interesting.

I leant a heavy hand constructing the walls that held me captive. No matter our objective circumstance, we imprison ourselves in the subjective images we embrace. The key to living with – or without – disability is to espouse a “healthy” self-view and carry faith in life’s possibilities. I ever take heart my Cinderella ending lingers within arm’s reach.

 

Shoe Fetish

12487259_sTypical of most females is a love affair with leather delectables that grace the feet. My friends pontificate over the perfect match of shoe to garment, agonizing over the slope and height of heel as if they’re solving a complex trigonometric equation. Years ago, I understood that fashion starts at my ankles – when I wear boots at my knees.

There’s no rhyme or reason to which shoes cooperate with my misbehaving muscles, particularly my left foot, which acts like a caged beast desperate to escape confinement. I apply a simple test: (1) do my feet stay in the shoes; if yes, go to part (2) do they make my walking worse? Mind you, my body’s apt to play naughty tricks. I’ll put the shoes through boot camp in-store, all systems go. Then invariably, I can’t walk in the shoes when I need them. Prince Charming’s quest for Cinderella’s singular foot has nothing on my footwear missions. I dread shopping for sneakers!

The moral of this story: They say shoes make the outfit, but in my book, the most important item we wear is our smile!