A/N: Do not own anything. Comments would be lovely.
When you were young you had the whole world ahead of you. Little Allison was told of a big world of magic and fantasy where handsome men, who rode on white horses, would sweep you off your feet and into the sunset.
You would sit in your pink nightgown, fluffy white-colored bunny under your right arm, in front of the television, too close your mother would say, but you sat close to be captivated; you wanted to be Cinderella; you wanted to be Snow White. Little Allison was enchanted.
Your blue eyes would glaze over as the prince claimed his princess and rode off into the sunset after successfully defeating all of the evil in the world. All evil was eventually defeated, well, according to Walt Disney and your mother anyhow. At the tender age of six, they were the authority on your future love life.
Your mother would lull you to sleep at night with tales of Rapunzel and her long silky hair, and how her prince came to save her. You would ask your mother if one day you would have a prince of your very own. She told you that every woman finds her prince and sweeps her off of her feet, as she kissed your nose. You went to sleep with a smile on your face and your very own fairy godmother.
As a child you would prance around in costume dresses and jewelry pretending to a princess captured in a tower by the evil witch, and wait in agony as your neighbor Samuel played your knight in shining armor; all 3 feet of him. Samuel was not your Prince Charming, but at 8-years-old he would be your first kiss. The way the stories were told to you, through gentle whispers from your mother, it was always love at first sight when it came to your prince. So it surprised you when the blond doctor with a charming smile and shiny hair—they always had shiny hair—didn't make your heart skip a beat; but it was the gravely, austere presence of a man with a cane that caused your mind to go blank; and Walt Disney didn't have any movies for this.
Now on your thirtieth birthday, of course you could no longer be naïve enough to believe in princes and princess but something was definitely wrong with your story because you did believe in the Big Bad Wolf; it wasn't supposed to progress this way.
As you blow out the candles on your store bought ice-cream cake, you remembered nothing in your life did.
Maybe your mother told it wrong.