You should know, that in my mind, I am a princess. Never mind that I swear relentlessly, don't own a crown or tiara, hold no established monarchy, and am not related to royalty in any way.
I'm also, let me be clear, not a Disney princess. The closest I come is the scene in 9 to 5 where Lily Tomlin has the Snow White poisons her boss fantasy.
I'm a princess in my mind, and only occasionally, in my sartorial choices.
I'm actually the antithesis of princess-y, in a lot of ways. Maybe a better way to say it is, I'm a lady. I like finger sandwiches, pretty dresses and my grandmother's silver.
But this lady also likes cold beer, hockey, and self-reliance.
This princess is self-rescuing.
I try to be useful in any situation. If you've got a problem, yo, I'll solve it.
I have baited mousetraps, and handled the carcass removal of successful kills. I open jars, I change tires, I know how to patch one, if it came down to it. I have navigated the purchase of a car, solo. I have selected a cardiac rehab facility for a loved one, solo. I have called the bank, the utilities company, and my senator. I can write a lovely bereavement note, a cover letter, or a blog post. I can do basic math and speak enough of a few languages to not be an asshole abroad. I have a passport. I've used it. I can order wine for the table at dinner. I can speak in public. I can drive on the interstate, or dirt roads. I know dog breeds. I know how to can. I can sew a button or fix a dropped hem. I can sing a hymn. I can read the room. I can read all kinds of things. I can cook for one or twenty. I can care for a plant, a pet, or another human being. I have stamps. I know what colors to wear and those to avoid. I know how my best friend takes his coffee, and my husband's clothing sizes. I will always offer to buy lunch, and I bring in treats for the kennel staff that take care of my dog.
I can look after myself.
Now, having worked in healthcare and safety, I think I'm maybe more aware of my surroundings than some. And because of that, I think I'm basically fine to move about the planet without intervention.
Turns out, not everyone agrees.
A few months ago, our corporate leadership came to the office to have a little free exchange of ideas. One of my colleagues mentioned that we didn't have security in the office, and for a number of reasons, that was bad. My work hours got used as an excuse. My male colleague thought it was unsafe for those who work late, like me (and he used my name) to be walking to their cars alone.
I've worked jobs where that may have been true - but we're in an area that is as safe as any. And I have a clear path from the front door to my car. I can be there in 20 seconds. I even said as much to our leaders after the meeting.
Now, though, we have security - two guys who each take half the week.
They are both really nice. They are friendly and helpful. I don't know that I feel any safer, specifically, but the weird part is, they're now required to walk us to our cars. And by us, I mean me. I don't leave after dark (in summer), but I am often the last office worker out the door.
It feels weird, but I guess I'll get used to it.
But if push comes to shove, I need you to know, this princess can rescue herself.
ae
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