Yesterday, I got a package. And although I knew what was inside, pulling it out made me grin like a five-year-old eyeing her birthday cake.
What was it, you ask, that delighted me so?
A paint deck. As in, every color you could ever imagine, all together in one place.
Beautiful, isn’t it? Lest you picture something small, let me tell you — it’s 11 inches in length, 3 1/2 inches thick. And it’s a good thing I’ve been working out because it sure isn’t light. It’s not just a paint deck. It could double as a weapon or possibly a baseball bat. As a multi-tasker myself, I appreciate that. (more…)
At least that’s the common belief. But I have to tell you, it ain’t true. I may have played at being a princess with my friends, but it definitely wasn’t what I wanted for my life. I wanted to be an actor or a writer. (And there was a brief stint of wanting to be a waitress. Yeah, I don’t know what that was about. I’m sure my career aspirations scared the mess out of my logical, practical parents.)
We’ve romanticized the idea of being a princess. It means being special, wealthy, loved. And so we think, “hey, if we can make girls feel like princesses, they’ll understand their self-worth.”
