Waiting to Be Picked

I was a late bloomer. My body didn't start to mature until my senior year in high school, but my brain--the part that makes decisions based on logical thinking--took much longer. I was living in a fairy tale world where maidens, dressed in their best "pick me" dresses,  hung out in a meadow adjacent to an enchanted forest waiting for a knight in shinning armor to trot out of the forest on his big white horse, instantly spot the best maiden in the meadow, sweep her off her feet, throw her up on the back of his mount, and ride off into the sunset where they would live happily ever after.  That was how it was all supposed to go down, but my fairy tale's script had been altered just a little...okay a lot.

The only thing that wasn't altered in my fairy tale fantasy was me, the maiden who hoped to be considered "the best maiden in the meadow." What did change was everything else. The enchanted forest was the dark, obscure back corner of The Holyoke Bar on Pendleton Pike. The meadow was the well-lit dance floor with surrounding tables. All the maidens, dressed in their best "pick me" outfits were on display at the tables while the knights sat in darkness waiting to make their choices.

Whoa! Hold on! Did you see movement from the enchanted forest? I thought I saw movement. Could it be a knight is coming to pick someone to dance with him? Sit up straight. Stick out your fake boobs. Lick your lips. Act demur. Here he comes. Is he coming for me? Oh, please. Pick me! Pick me! Pick me!

False alarm. It's just the waitress delivering beer to the knights.

Waiting to be picked out of a group of "desperately-seeking-love" maidens wasn't fun, and it didn't do anything to boost my self-esteem. But I was, after all, only eighteen...too young to be in a bar anyway. With the help of Hindsight's retrospective abilities, I can see that now.