Let me start out by saying that I was never a “girly” girl. I never had a pink room, liked bubble baths, or cared for frilly dresses. I didn’t paint my nails, take ballet lessons, or wear ribbons in my hair. I never identified with princesses nor had dreams of Prince Charming. I’m pragmatic and, frankly, all that stuff seemed like an incredible waste of time to a girl who would rather hang with the boys, catch salamanders at Sandstone Park, and run barefoot after dark playing Capture the Flag. Sometimes, being not girly is more fun.
Yesterday, however, I was watching a recent episode of The Big Bang Theory, a show I adore because it’s both intelligent and incredibly funny. The dialogue is writer’s genius. For example:
Sheldon: “Why are you crying?”
Penny: “Because I’m stupid.”
Sheldon: “Well, that’s no reason to cry. One cries because one is sad. For example, I cry because others are stupid, and that makes me sad.”
Like I said, genius.
My favorite character is Amy Farrah Fowler. Although I relate more to Sheldon (not because I’m a genius but because I share his dislike for people and his inability to appreciate social conventions), Amy ‘s intelligence coupled with her over-the-top desire to be a “normal” girl make her hysterical. And, no one could play Amy the way Mayim Bialik does. Whoever cast her is a mastermind. She’s completely bizarre and yet somehow fully likable.
At any rate, the episode I saw yesterday had Amy and Sheldon at odds. To smooth over Amy’s ruffled feathers, Sheldon at his friend’s suggestion decides to buy Amy a gift so he can circumvent any further arguing. It works. Sheldon gives Amy a tiara, and it effectively ends the fight. Amy’s reaction to the tiara is priceless, and it got me to thinking. Every woman, even a not girly girl, deserves a tiara. It’s just that simple.
So, yesterday I went tiara shopping. After polling Heather M, my in-the-know shopping friend, I headed to the local mall to Claire’s. I’ve never stepped foot in Claire’s before because 1) it’s a girly store for pre-teens and 2) it’s a store filled with girly pre-teens. But, sure enough, just as Heather predicted there were rhinestone tiaras to be had. Yes. Tiaras. Plural. While my boys, none too thrilled with being dragged to the mall, sat outside in horror and shame, I stood in there among the girls and tried on tiaras. It was oddly fun. Finally I selected one, paid the obnoxious teenage clerk who had rolled her eyes at me when I was trying them on and she thought I couldn’t see her (newsflash, sweetie…I was looking into a mirror…I could SEE you behind me) and left with my tiara in a bag.
I got home, put it on, and walked in the kitchen to show Steve. He looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
“What is that for?” he inquired.
“I’m a princess, and this is my tiara,” I replied.
He didn’t say a thing. Just moved on to the next topic while I walked around wearing my tiara. Smart man.
I know it’s a silly for a grown woman to have a rhinestone tiara. It’s whimsical. It’s foolish. I’ll probably never wear it out anywhere except perhaps to a costume party. But I’m fairly certain that on my next really bad day I’m going to dig it out of my lingerie drawer, place it atop my head, and remind myself over a tasty glass of Cab that I rule this kingdom, such that it is. And, if the men in my life are as intelligent as I think they are, they will learn that when I’m wearing that tiara they’d best not mess with me. You never argue with a princess in a tiara unless you want to find yourself shackled in a dungeon that’s guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. I may not be a girly girl, but I do understand the inherent power in being a princess.