Most of us know the charming parable of Goldilocks and the Three Bears: a young girl, who gets lost along the way, finds a fascinating cottage wherein she stumbles upon delicious porridge and a comfy bed. Being a lover of porridge and soft, cozy beds, as a child I was entranced by this story. To this day I can still imagine the taste of the porridge and snuggling into that baby bear's bed. What I didn't realize was that as a 26-year-old woman, I would be sitting on the floor of my living room, laptop in hand, watching old episodes of "My So Called Life," googling the newest guy that I agreed to go on a blind date with, and thinking of little Goldi and her happenstance story of being lost and then finding an ideal situation. I realized that at this time in my life how much I have in common with Goldilocks. A young(ish) woman on a journey, slightly lost at times, and hoping to stumble into my own perfect world of warm bowls of oatmeal and feather-soft down pillows. Also, like Goldilocks, I've had my sampling of too hot, too cold, too hard, and too soft. If you hadn't guessed already, not with cereals and mattresses but with men.
Before I get to men, the interesting thing about Goldilocks and the Three Bears is that originally Goldilocks was not an adorable blond, curly haired, doll-like figure, but an old woman who, in one of the versions, dies (she's impaled on a steeple, classy). In addition, the three bears were not Father, Mother, and Baby but three bachelor bears. Now we're getting to a meatier version of this fantasy that has a deeper connection with my own experiences. The old woman representing my search for the perfect mate and going for what you want and the fact that every year I get closer to the biological clock race-against-time-issue. My three bachelors definitely have varying tastes, however, I mostly understand the old woman/Goldilocks's need to run away at the end of the story. I have, on many the occasion, felt like slipping (or perhaps jumping) out a window. I begin a date like a naive, lighthearted Goldilocks and end it feeling like I will be that old woman, stealing other people's perfect porridge, never somehow finding my own (though microwaves, the modern marvels of our time, have made the process so much easier). Also like Goldilocks, I am never quite content. I don't consider myself a magnet for mishap but in the last four months I have dated a guy who apparently had an addiction to prostitutes, an Orthodox Jew who licked my arm on the third date, and someone who was 12-years-older than me (the aforementioned blind date, now leaving me with the thought of, how old do I really look). These were not their only qualities- all three were very endearing in their own way, yet somehow not that perfect bowl of gruel. Three seemed to be the magic number for Goldi but obviously not for me.
All-in-all I'm still on my search. Until then, at least there is never a dull moment in my tales of dating. Even in fiction the girl ends up running away from her utopian findings. My findings, unlike Goldi, are less utopian and more inconvenient, such as walking into a date's bathroom, washing my hands, turning to find that instead of a towel, a pair of used boxers are hanging on the rack. In the end, sometimes a woman has to be happy with a good meal, an excellent nap, cut her losses, and get back on the path of finding something that may not be "just right" but even better.
Before I get to men, the interesting thing about Goldilocks and the Three Bears is that originally Goldilocks was not an adorable blond, curly haired, doll-like figure, but an old woman who, in one of the versions, dies (she's impaled on a steeple, classy). In addition, the three bears were not Father, Mother, and Baby but three bachelor bears. Now we're getting to a meatier version of this fantasy that has a deeper connection with my own experiences. The old woman representing my search for the perfect mate and going for what you want and the fact that every year I get closer to the biological clock race-against-time-issue. My three bachelors definitely have varying tastes, however, I mostly understand the old woman/Goldilocks's need to run away at the end of the story. I have, on many the occasion, felt like slipping (or perhaps jumping) out a window. I begin a date like a naive, lighthearted Goldilocks and end it feeling like I will be that old woman, stealing other people's perfect porridge, never somehow finding my own (though microwaves, the modern marvels of our time, have made the process so much easier). Also like Goldilocks, I am never quite content. I don't consider myself a magnet for mishap but in the last four months I have dated a guy who apparently had an addiction to prostitutes, an Orthodox Jew who licked my arm on the third date, and someone who was 12-years-older than me (the aforementioned blind date, now leaving me with the thought of, how old do I really look). These were not their only qualities- all three were very endearing in their own way, yet somehow not that perfect bowl of gruel. Three seemed to be the magic number for Goldi but obviously not for me.
All-in-all I'm still on my search. Until then, at least there is never a dull moment in my tales of dating. Even in fiction the girl ends up running away from her utopian findings. My findings, unlike Goldi, are less utopian and more inconvenient, such as walking into a date's bathroom, washing my hands, turning to find that instead of a towel, a pair of used boxers are hanging on the rack. In the end, sometimes a woman has to be happy with a good meal, an excellent nap, cut her losses, and get back on the path of finding something that may not be "just right" but even better.
I love it!
ReplyDeleteSO well-written! :D :D BRAVO.
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