"For the first sixteen years of my life, I'd always imagined myself a princess. Then in the eleventh grade, Derrick Cooley called me a hag and I realized I wasn't a princess after all. It's amazing how quickly someone can ruin everything you've ever...
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The first time that Valerie Peterson was ever called "princess" was when she was 8 years old. Kenneth Peterson, Valerie's father, had plucked her off the ground after attempting to teach a rather young and clutzy Valerie to ride a bike. "I'll never learn to ride a bike." Her father set her bike upright from the ground and sat down next to her on the curb with a grunt. "Don't be dramatic dearest. Of course you will. You've only just begun learning so it isn't fair to expect perfection of yourself." "I'm too clumsy." Rather plump tears rolled down Valerie's cheeks painting a perfectly sad picture when paired with her quivering bottom lip. A large hand appeared in front of her face and gently brushed the tears from her cheeks. "Even princesses are clumsy. And you are definitely a princess Valerie."
The second time that Valerie Peterson was ever called a Princess was at her ninth birthday a short two weeks later. The third, fourth, and fifth times followed shortly after.
So naturally, for the first sixteen years of her life, Valerie had always imagined herself a princess. Then in the eleventh grade, Derrick Cooley called her a hag and she realized she wasn't a princess after all. It's amazing how quickly someone can ruin everything you've ever known with one word. Even now, ten years later, a cringe paints Valerie's face when she hears it and immediately she is brought back to that rainy afternoon when her love for herself first diminished.
Derrick Cooley didn't mean anything to her. They hadn't been dating, and she hadn't been the least bit interested in him at any point really. So why did it matter so much that he thought her a hag? Still, without any romantic affection for the man, Valerie could not help the disappointment that settled in the pits of her stomach. When she arrived home that night, she didn't greet her parents like she usually did. She didn't read the paper with her father, or set the table with her mother. She zipped straight up to her room and stumbled face first onto her bed. The door did not open for the rest of the evening.
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