Cinderella

As we walked past a laundromat last evening a wall of kid art caught my eye. I imagine the kids sit at the table near this window and draw while they wait with parents for the spin cycle to end. What I never imagined was that the art of MY childhood could so easily be reproduced. This Cinderella taped up on the wall is the spitting image of so very many Cinderellas that I drew with sharpened crayons and clean white paper. This Cinderella, like all of MY Cinderellas, sports lopsided sleeves and wonkey arms, but always, always perfect hair and makeup. (Because if those were messed up, wadding the paper and pitching it to the floor was in line). I loved Cinderella like she were my own flesh and blood and I drew Cinderella more than anything else because I knew that I too would one day marry a prince with shoulder pads, go places in a pumpkin, and live in that blue castle at Disney World. I think that the repeated drawing was more of a meditation really, a goal setting exercise for myself. But now I see that nope, I'm not whimsical and unique, there are others doing this meditation. I don't still have a glass slipper out there somewhere. That wasn't fairy dust in that Crayola glitter jar. And Max is never going to talk to me or make me a dress. Drat.