Diary of a Size 12

Chapter 1

Here's what I've learned from being a chick-flick – and chocolate and cookies Häagen-Dazs - addict: there's no such thing as 'true love'; if you're in a love triangle, it's probably with two girls and just ONE guy; a woman won't find someone who'll love her by accidentally pouring coffee into the guy's shirt; and finally, you won't have a background upbeat song to match your mood – at least out loud. So, how do these fantasies come to life? How do people make money with such blunt lies? Easy: Disney movies!

Yeah, Disney movies. Go back in time, in your mind, just for a minute. Remember when you were like thiiiiis little, and your momma used to buy the Disney movies VHS? You watched them all day long. Princesses who barely said a word! Princes in white stallions with brightly straight white teeth and perfect hair. And finally, the ride into the sunset finale. All the time this story happened. Over and over and over again. So you grew up with this stupid fantasy that one day a prince would come and get you out of your miserable boring empty life, toss you over his shoulder and be happily ever after.

Admit it. You did.

And you still do, sometimes. Especially after a nasty break up. No matter where you're from, what your beliefs may be, you keep telling yourself – even if you totally deny to your friends, 'cause, you know, you're an independent twenty first century woman – that one day, an awesome guy/girl, will come into your life, and sweep you off your size seven feet.

It won't.

Believe me!

You know how I know? Easy: I'm that girl too. Really, I am. It looks kinda conflicting, but yeah, I'm that girl too. The girl close to her thirties that grew up watching Happy Ever After stories. Over and over and over and over again. Point made.

I still think about Prince Charming. But he's gotta have an Ivy League degree – doesn't have to be a real Prince, but that would give him extra credit -; a nice car; a great apartment in my favorite city and current address, New York; has to be some sort of artist, singer or painter or photographer – fashion would be best -, I don't discriminate; he has to be a bad boy with depth, I get the hots for that; and finally, he has to be funny, charming but not too much sweet, and of course, a little dose of arrogance always adds a something especial to it.

So, I'm not picky. I just want what the books and movies promised me. I have the right to it!

"You're late" My best friend and flat mate Harmony chirped, while stretching in the living room as she did her yoga.

"Yes, thank you" I groaned, running to our tight kitchen and grabbing the first thing that came in contact with my hand.

"A cookie ain't breakfast." She groaned, changing her position to the lotus... something "You should eat oatmeal. It would do wonders to your bowel."

"Great quote. So Dalai Lamaish." I teased, and filled my black travel mug with some fresh made coffee; I shriked as I got fried by the bitch "The coffee machine is trying to kill me again."

"Don't make me go in there, you two." Harmony teased "I'm serious, G. You're gonna get an ulcer from so much coffee." She warned me, while wrapping her navy blue yoga mattress "And get sick, and die before you turn thirty."

"You're really lucky that Ah love you." I smiled, kissing her blushed hollow cheek and grabbing my purse again "Where are my keys...?"

"Just be yourself, today." She told me, her skinny arms stretching over her strawberry blonde shoulder length hair "You know that's the best policy."

"Actually, the best policy is to lie about yourself, smile and be professional." I assured her, looking for my keys in the damn key bowl by the door "Found them!"