Midlife crisis is a terrible thing. You go crazy imagining that you’re growing too old too fast, and by the time it’s all over, you’ve terrified all your family, friends, and even yourself. Insecurity is already bad in teenagers; I have no idea why fate chose it to affect adults too. Death is inevitable, and no matter what Hannah Montana says, not every age 5-82 can “pop it, lock it, polka-dot it”. I don’t even know what that is. What I guess I’m saying is;
If it weren’t for his midlife crisis, I never would’ve gotten my true love.
His name was Ronald Purple, which everyone made fun of, but which I thought was unique. Purple is the color of royalty, so every time I thought of him, I thought of myself being trapped in a tall tower, and he’d sweep me off my feet. I memorized his schedule. You may call it stalking, but I find it “being interested”. When we graduated high school, he had been dating this cheerleader named Naomi Bartley. They even got married. The cruel part was that they had invited me to the wedding. I would’ve went, but I knew that if I broke down in the middle of the ceremony it wouldn’t be because they were saying their vows. So I decided to simply stay in my closet, crying over my princess dreams.
