I shoved the VCR back into the machine and hit rewind. As the wheels spun around and around, I smiled in anticipation.
It was 1999. I was 4 years old, and my favorite movie was without a doubt, Beauty and the Beast.
For hours, I would plop down in front of the TV in our playroom, mesmerized by dancing figures of clocks and candelabras. I loved the animation, the characters and the music. But, by far, I loved one particular scene the most—when the Beast presented Belle with a library. If you ask my sister, it was because I was a nerd, even at the ripe age of four. But if you ask me, it was because this is the moment you know the Beast will not be another boring, run-of-the-mill Prince Charming, but a dashing, scholarly, generous, kind-hearted and perfect man who just happens to be a wealthy prince living in a glamorous chateau, too.
I became consumed with the idea of my prince. Trips to Disney World became adventures in stalking the princesses in an effort to learn their secrets. The playground became the venue for debates over which characters reigned supreme. And thus, my infatuation began.
During middle school, I suffered with my closet-obsession, hiding my Disney DVDs behind the lamest romcoms in which no male lead could hold a candle to my prince. Needless to say, it was a dark time in my life.
No white steed. No magic carpet. Not even a talking candelabra.
I have matured, graduating from princes to Mr. Darcy. But the idea has remained the same and the position has remained vacant.
I don’t have a library yet, but at this point in my life, I know I’ll be okay without one.
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