Scandal Hepburn

Love, Perfection, Reality, and Scandal

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Ever been in love with the thought of being in love? I was once and it was magical until it wasn’t. Reality set in and I found out the truth behind the myth that was a man, if you can call him that.

We, women put so much pressure on ourselves to find love that often we settle for less then love just so the outside world sees us. We put on this show to be accepted so that people will stop feeling sorry for us because we are “alone” like being alone is a terrible thing. Often being alone is way better then the alternative. We enter into these relationships with expectations that were formed from watching romantic movies and reading fairy tales. We have these assumptions of what a man is supposed to do and how a woman is supposed to act and inevitably we are disappointed because reality sucks. There is no happily ever after. We women have been sold a bill of goods that has led us down the primrose path only to lose ourselves in relationships with men who have no desire to be Prince Charming. Oh we try to make him into a prince, we try to mold him and trick him and ploy him with sexual rewards but still he is no Prince Charming. Meanwhile he is getting everything he ever wanted a maid, a whore, a cook all free of charge waiting on his every whim, society’s idea of the perfect wife.
Yes, there has been a women’s liberation movement, in the 70’s, and yes we know that fairy tales aren’t real and we don’t need a man to be a woman but there is something deep down inside us that still searches for Prince Charming, still searches for that knight in shining armor to come and rescue us. We women walk around saying “I don’t need a man”, “I got his I’m independent” but as soon as a man shows up we strut around like peacocks competing with our sisters for his attention. Why? We are the queens, we are the bringers of life, once we were worshiped as the Goddesses we are and now we just toss that aside for one “how you doin’?” from some fine man. It just doesn’t make sense. We sell ourselves short everyday and end up with nothing but a sink full of dirty dishes, a never ending pile of laundry, dirty diapers, and a lazy man who just sits around while all hell breaks loose around him. By the time we see him for what he really is it’s too late, not only do we have ourselves to think about we have the children we have to provide for too.
By the time we wake up and get out we have wasted our prime because in this youth obsessed culture any woman over the age of 35 is “old” and will never find love. We have missed the opportunity and must accept our fate as old spinsters who are unworthy of love because we have wisdom highlights and joyous laugh lines. We want to say older woman are beautiful and we have the whole cougar thing but in reality we know that as women once we reach a certain age we have very few men that are worth a damn left. Most of the “good ones” are already married or are trading in for a younger model.
So here I am nearly 50 years old, the day before Valentine’s Day sitting alone and joyous. I have had great dramatic romances that have swept me off my feet, torrid affairs, and clandestine meetings but this year I am alone and happy. I have no pressure to make Valentine’s Day perfect and live up to some notion we have of what the perfect day to celebrate love is. I am free from the encumbrances of a lover on Valentine’s and I am free to celebrate in a way that makes me happy without a care for what the “other half” thinks. I think I shall eat chocolate covered strawberries in bed and watch Katharine Hepburn movies, my favorite, and then I will eat pizza for dinner and catch up on Scandal and How to Get Away with Murder on Hulu. The perfect Valentine’s Day full of strong women who take no shit from no man.

Fabulous at 50 living and writing in Appalachia

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