It was late afternoon, on the very last Wednesday of August, when I realized Disney had been lying to me for quite some time about Happily Ever Afters.
Because, you see, I was four days into mine, and my prince was nowhere to be found.
Gone. Vanished.
“I’ll definitely never forget you,” he’d said.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” he’d said.
“Please don’t lose contact. I need to see you again one day,” he’d said.
So why was I here, sitting at the kitchen counter and banging my head against a metaphorical wall, weighing up the pros and cons of sending yet another message to him?
Like, okay. Yes, if I sent another it’d be three in a row. Yes that was semi-stalker level. But I could rationalize this. The first message he’d ignored was in response to his own text on Saturday ni
