By Lucy Woodhull (Guest Blogger)
Do you ever feel like the worst woman in the world? Turn on the TV or open a glossy, and you'll see PERFECTION(TM) beaming out at you. Perfect skin from ladies taller, thinner, richer. Living impossibly perfect lives with nary a human wrinkle or stray hair below their eyebrows.
A couple of years ago, my imperfections really got the better of me--our IVF failed and, with it, our hopes for having biological children. Even though I know intellectually that being a woman has nothing to do with giving birth, there aren't many things that can make a girl feel she's THE WOOOOORST like being a reproductive dunce.
The day after we got the shitty, crappy, poopy news, I wrote a story. See, I'm a romantic comedy author, and, at the time, I hadn't been able to write for months because of surgeries and more medical hocus pocus than Dr. Frankenstein inflicted on his poor, dead monster. Finally, when the hammer fell and the news was terrible, I found the wherewithal to jot down something funny...and very meaningful to me. November 14th, 2012 was the day Princess Poot was born.
Princess Poot is The Shittiest Princess, the star of a series of funny adult un-fair-y tales by moi. You can read them weekly on Wednesdays via Persephone Magazine.
She's ugly. Her boobs are too big, and her fin exists too much. Her teeth are yellow and sit in a jar next to her bed. And she's not blonde the way a perfect princess ought to be:
Dismay marred Poot’s already-marred features, for she was only flawless at her flaws. Let us not speak of her hair, which was not blonde in the least. The color was not light, it being vastly mousey, like dead leaves that are bothersome to pick up in the winter. One could not call the mop atop her head flaxen, or platinum, or tawny temptress, or yummy ‘n’ yellow. It was brown, okay? Brown—the absolute worst color for princess hair, except for blue, a look that only worked for Marge the Longsuffering of Springfield.
Princess Poot couldn't catch a handsome prince if her life depended on it! And she makes me happy every time I read about her. Something about creating the world's "worst" woman helped me to remember that none of us are perfect. None of us are those women in the magazines. Not even the women in the magazines are the women in the magazines! They're a cross between a PR flack and an alien edition of Photoshop. Poot never gives up trying to make new friends and improve the lot of the castle minions--no matter what names she's called or how cruelly she's treated. She's a good role model for a lady like me.
People have the temerity to ask folks without kids why we're even married. They tell us our lives are worthless, empty, meaningless. That we don't know what love is. Well, shit--I have a helluva lot more love for people than that, women especially. We all of us run aground of what a "good" woman is supposed to be or say or do. People will say I have too few kids, and that maybe some other woman has too many. No matter what we do, we're judged. Too fat, too thin, too tall, too short, too smart, not smart enough, skirt too short, skirt too long, too much makeup, not enough makeup and aaarrrgh!
So you know what I say? SCREW THE IDEAL. And that's why I write Princess Poot stories. She sometimes feels lonely, unheard, left out, too ugly to function and too weird to be loved--but she's not. None of us are, no matter our circumstances, our crappy medical prognoses, or how big our butts are. I truly believe that we, especially women, can always support one another more and love ourselves just as we are (as the immortal Bridget Jones would say).
If you'd like a dose of funny princess adventures starring The Shittiest Princess, you can read them all on PersephoneMagazine.com. "The Shittiest Princess and the Twelve-Toed Suitor" is the first story, and the rest (new ones every week) can be found here (scroll to the bottom and work your way up). If you dig steamy romantic comedies, you can read about my books on my website, http://lucywoodhull.com/.
And now for the contest! Leave me a comment telling me when you've felt like a flop-tastic societal failure to be entered to with an e-book of either my space romp Ragnar and Juliet or the first my sexy art heist series, The Dimple of Doom. (Don't forget to include your email address in the comment so I can find you.)
And now: GROUP HUG!
And now: GROUP HUG!