Daily Prompt: Mirror, Mirror

Look in the mirror. Does the person you see match the person you feel like on the inside? How much stock do you put in appearances?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us MIRRORED.

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I live in Los Angeles so this is – How much stock do you put in appearance – is such a loaded question.  If I say I don’t put much stock in my appearance, then people might assume that I just don’t care, and even wonder, damn, when did she start letting herself go?  I mean, with the Santa Anas blowing, my allergies are in full swing – my eyes are watering and my nose is runny and I’ve been sneezing like a mutha since yesterday.  Do I think I look great? Um, no…I actually feel like a beached whale, too, because I feel so bloated and my head is stuffed with cotton.

If I did say, why yes, I put much stock into my appearance and they see the person I just described above, they might say, girl, you need to put a whole lotta more stock in them appearance of yours.  By the way, here’s the way to Sephora.

So maybe you should ask me tomorrow, after I’ve taken my allergy pill first thing in the morning instead of waiting till my allergies are in full throttle, and I’m just feeling miserable and touch typing my way through this.

But it is a beautiful day here in California though…really!

Daily Prompt

Daily Post: Mirror Mirror On The Wall

Finish this sentence: “When I look in the mirror, I . . . “

Photographers, artists, poets: show us MIRRORED.

I’ve been so busy being at Camp NaNoWriMo that I forgot to post my Daily Prompt yesterday, which I had been dying to do since…well, since I came up for air after writing a few steamy scenes with my own muse.  I’d like to think that I’m getting better at writing these *ahem* racy scenes (although I do have plot – boy, do I!), but that is neither here nor there…

Back to the Daily Prompt…

So, when I look in the mirror, I see that somehow my features don’t lend itself well to what Disney Imagineers see as the ideal princess.  Even if I look back at all the princesses I’ve ever seen on the big and small screen, I’m not close.  Not even.

So when this Scottish girl named Merida came onto the scene a few years ago, I was thrilled to bits.  Finally! A tomboy princess!  Just like me!  I mean, except for the ‘princess’ part!

I never played with Barbie dolls.  Instead my dolls were soft and plush and sometimes made of paper, but still pudgy little girls and not the overly sexualized visions dished out by the major conglomerates who somehow dictate what beauty is.  Instead of playing dress up with princess gowns, I boxed and kicked in my karate gee with my brothers and cousins, played with matchbox cars and model aircraft carriers, getting the tiny fighter jets to land and take off.  Then when we could sneak it out of the house and off to the beach, proceeded to lose most of the damn jets when the carrier capsized and my older brother, when he returned from college, was definitely not pleased.

So I grew up as a tomboy and when the princess who sang that “someday her prince would come” appeared on the screen, I would think to myself, oh that’s nice, and move on to other more exciting things – like knocking the beehive off its branch and running like hell back into the house, or racing in home-made wooden scooters with ball-bearings as make-shift wheels sparking against the asphalt and screaming my head off the entire way because no one bothered to install a brake.

Anyway, where was I?  Oh, I was so happy when Brave came out and Merida came bursting through my consciousness, this girl after my own heart who could shoot her arrow and let her hair run wild about her, running off in the wilderness and doing what little tomboys did.  She said no to getting herself a husband and hated being ensconced in that tight fitting tunic shift and horrible white hooded thingy.  That’s my girl, I said to myself.

As I stood in line for the “It’s A Small World” ride at Disneyland for nth time because it’s what Little M wants, and besides, it’s hotter than hell outside and at least the Small World Ride is air-conditioned, I was always beyond thrilled when I turned to my right where the Scottish encampment was set up and little girls lined up to have their pictures taken with Merida and have their little autograph books signed.

One day, I told myself, I will line up along with those little girls and drag Little M with me and say that he’s the one who really likes her and have OUR picture taken together with this beautiful red-haired tomboy princess.

But then, Disney came out with the grown up version of Merida last month and somehow Merida had found her way to Bedford and Brighton Way in Beverly Hills and had gotten herself a MAJOR make-over.  And I mean, major make-over.  She’s had her eyes brightened and it’s more sultry, a bust lift to further enhance that lower neckline on her new dress that draws in much tighter on her nipped waist and of course, this only enhances the curvy wide hips she’s somehow inherited since, um, “growing up”.

And when a Scottish princess apparently grows up, she sheds the bows and arrows and the quiver that was a staple of her life, because, you know, it’s just added weight when you consider her wide belt with golden button-thing is more important in saving her life – like when she unties it and takes the whole dress off.  Yes, that will save many a woman, that’s for sure.

Somehow no one bothered to tell the Disney Imagineers the back story or even the whole damn story, or wait, even just the synopsis of Brave and about the character Merida and what qualities drove her character and made her real, and what her character believed in.  No one.

Not a f**king soul.

MERIDA

And all I can say is.  What the f**k…?

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That’s right, Mr. Buscemi.  Just my sentiments exactly.

*Sorry for the obscenities.  Sometimes I just have to.  And now I shall sneak back into camp and pretend I never left….

Daily Prompt