Halfway to Happy

Ever since I watched Cinderella's ridiculously proportioned stepsisters try to squeeze their toes into her little glass slipper, I think I knew. It's better to be tiny. If you're tiny, you're nice. If you're tall, you're a yeller and if you're chubby, you're going to take all of the food. But if you're tiny - well, it's true that you're going to have to do all of the work while the ugly ones lie around, but you get to sing with the birds. And you get a really awesome dress made by rodents - and then an even better dress when the rodent one gets ruined. And you get to ride in Autumnal vegetables, wear delicate footwear and dance with the Prince. So it's all good.
I remember looking down at my feet when I first saw Cinderella. They already looked bigger than hers when I was five. As did my calves, my thighs and maybe even my hips. I didn't want to be one of the big sturdy girls, or 'farm stock' as my Nana called it. I wanted to be delicate and treasured. And while I'm not fond of birds or mice, the deer and livestock seemed to be really fond of her too. Now, I felt like a 'Cinderella' type. I was always singing, always nice (or at least 50% of the time). My mother was a slave driver, making me make my bed every day - seriously! But I wasn't delicate. I was sporty.
Then sporty turned into chubby, chubby to voluptuous, voluptuous into 'I give up.' No one is chasing after me with a tiny shoe, and if Prince Charming came to my doorstep I would still be like Anastacia, trying to squeeze my size 9 feet into a size whatever shoe. Could you blame me? He's Prince fricking Charming! And could you blame her or her sister? I mean, I know they should know better than to expect a man to love them given their bad hair and freakishly large noses. But maybe they still wanted to be treasured, by men and wildlife. Maybe I do too. I'm getting there - I think my dog really loves me.