Of Princes and Red Clay

It all began yesterday evening, when I was walking my grandmother's dog. As I strolled the streets of small-town North Carolina, the red clay caking on my shoes and the 50-degree breeze chilling me through my sweater, I got to thinking. I realized, then and there, that I hadn't yet found My Prince. My Prince is The One. Everyone has a Prince (or a Princess). My Prince will have dark, floppy hair that curls up at the ends. He will be taller than me, and will wear button-down shirts and jeans, and Converses. He will be athletic, but not a jock. He will be artsy, or at least appreciate my artsiness, and he will be sweet. Most of all, he will love me no matter what, and he will NOT be a Republican. I don't care how much I can learn. Nu-uh. Not gonna happen. Anyway, as I tugged Jordan (the dog) away from people's yards, where he had his nose pressed to the vivid green grass, I looked at every house I passed, and I looked for My Prince. Needless to say, I didn't find him, but I will keep looking for ever and ever. Maybe J is My Prince, and I really should call him. Maybe not. All I know is, I WILL find him eventually. I will keep looking forever, and I will make mistakes, but in the end, he'll show up. For now, I need to go sand some furniture.

Determinedly,
Rosie L.