Brian, this is for you.

Just read something about people complaining about love not finding them, or the 'right person' not showing up... the very core of the Snow White 'Some Day My Prince Will Come' complex.

Interesting, because I was just speaking of the same thing with friends... this kind of passive role just... doesn't suit. There is nothing wrong with a little Cinderella fantasy, a desire to be swept off one's feet, whisked away on a white horse, etc. Fine. We all indulge in secret romantic daydreams, ain't not shame in admitting it... but there is a distinct difference between these harmless dreams and actually sitting still, waiting for the fantasy to come to life.

There is a world of exciting mistakes and romantic foibles waiting outside this little waiting-by-the-phone-with-a-cat-and-an-astrology/candle-collection cliche bubble. I remember reading somewhere some sort of quote attributed to Jonathan Rhys-Meyers (spelling?) in which he recalls sitting in some Hollywood bar listening to these two young girls bitch about how they'll never find the perfect guy and bemoaning the fact that all the Brad Pitts of the world just didn't seem to be appearing or interested or whatever. His response was my favorite... basically, he turned to the girls and said (I'm paraphrasing), "Well, if you want to land Brad Pitt, you have to look like Angelina Jolie! So until then, get off your arses, hit the gym, and quit complaining!"

Right on, sir. Enough with the entitlement, let's face the fact that a girl's gotta fight for what she wants. As in take an active stance. Make it happen. Carpe Diem. (Or carpe noctum, as the case may be, wink).

Anyway, obviously had a poem in mind (quelle surprise). Here it is, enjoy:

Any prince to any princess

August is coming
and the goose, I’m afraid,
is getting fat.
There have been
no golden eggs for some months now.
Straw has fallen well below market price
despite my frantic spinning
and the sedge is,
as you rightly point out,
withered.

I can’t imagine how the pea
got under your mattress. I apologize
humbly. The chambermaid has, of course,
been sacked. As for the frog footman,
I understand that, during my recent fact-finding tour of the Golden River,
despite your nightly unavailing efforts,
he remained obstinately
froggish.

I hope that the Three Wishes granted by the General Assembly
will go some way towards redressing
this unfortunate sequence of events.
The fall in output from the shoe-factory, for example:
no one could have foreseen the work-to-rule
by the National Union of Elves. Not to mention the fact
that the court has been fast asleep
for the last six and a half years.

The matter of the poisoned apple has been taken up
by the Board of Trade: I think I can assure you
the incident will not be
repeated.

I can quite understand, in the circumstances,
your reluctance to let down
your golden tresses. However
I feel I must point out
that the weather isn’t getting any better
and I already have a nasty chill
from waiting at the base
of the White Tower. You must see the absurdity of the situation.
Some of the courtiers are beginning to talk,
not to mention the humble villagers.
It’s been three weeks now, and not even
a word.

Princess,
a cold, black wind
howls through our empty palace.
Dead leaves litter the bedchamber;
the mirror on the wall hasn’t said a thing
since you left. I can only ask,
bearing all this in mind,
that you think again,

let down your hair,

reconsider.

- Adrian Henri