The Great and Terrible

I have the very rare privilege of having a job where my primary responsibility is to make people happy AND I have the tools necessary to accomplish this.  It makes my job less of a job and more of one in a series of fun activities I'm doing in a day.  I am also very fortunate that I am, and I am not exaggerating this, an exceedingly happy person.  I very rarely break character even when not working.  I pretty much have been in character since my first day with the rare exception of extreme moments of frustration (mostly GPS related.)  In fact, me in character is essentially me in real life with a higher pitched voice and the tendency to ask several questions and repeat your answers back to you with a question mark at the end.

It should also be noted that I simply am not interested in being sad.  This is not to say that I don't get sad because I do. (I'm not a robot or Batman. It happens.)  What I mean is that I have simply decided I've been sad enough in my life and I'd prefer to be sad as little as possible in the future.  In any situation if I have the option to be sad or any other of the wide range of human emotions, 9 times out of 10, I will choose the other emotion (cheerful or sardonic being my first choices.)  My relationship with my tears mirrors that of the United States' relationship with oil.  In my youth I let them gush at the slightest provocation with no concern for how wastefully I let them spill all over.  There would always be more and the drama of them bursting forth seemed entirely justified.  Now, if I deign to let a few drops out I must be entirely at the end of my patience or the situation is something truly heart wrenching (like that montage scene from Up. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Don't even pretend you don't.)

I'm not detailing this so that you will picture me like Bruce Willis in Die Hard.  I just want it to be clear that my reaction to the following story is not a typical one for me and that it was one of the few times when I hoped upon hope that my Pixie Dust could be more than sparkly.

It's like starring in to a mirror, I swear.

When I met my Princess at the door she was wearing a pink baseball cap. I talked with her and her family throughout the check in process and it was not until she climbed in to my chair that I realized she had only the shortest of blonde bristles for hair.  I had been distracted entirely by her abundance of freckles and enormous blue eyes to realize that there was no pony tail popping out of the back of her cap.  I paused for a beat but immediately began making conversation so as not to appear rude.  I started by painting my Princess's nails and asking her my standard questions.  

What do I do? How do I even ask what to do? Has someone else noticed this? Please, someone, tell me how we handle this!

Another FGIT who has been there much longer than I have approached and, noticing my Princess had selected a Belle dress, asked if she would also like the Belle wig.  Another beat but instead of looking at the wig I watched my Princess looking at the wig.  

She doesn't even understand why she would want that. She likes exactly how she looks right now.  At four she has more beauty confidence than women at 40.

I interrupted the pause, "I think you are so beautiful just the way you are right now, Princess. What do you think?" She nodded and smiled and her freckles bunched together as her cheeks rose to meet the bottoms of her eyes.  As I worked on her makeup I asked questions to her and the family about their trip.  It was their first trip.  Mom and the Grandparents planned it and Dad got leave from Afghanistan to be there.  It was the trip of a lifetime.  For my Princess, it would be the only visit.  

I Pixie Dusted her short hair, all the while assuring her that short haired girls had more fun.  That was why I cut mine off. 

"I used to have long, long hair like Rapunzel's but then I realized that the shorter your hair is the more fun you get to have.  So I just kept cutting it and you see how short it is now.  I have more fun than ever!"

Before the big reveal I usually make my girls promise not to peek or something along those lines but with this Princess I knelt down and asked her to promise me something more important.  

"Princess, before I turn you around and show you how beautiful you are I want you to promise me something, ok?" She nodded, blue eyes wide with excitement.  "Promise me that every time you see yourself in a mirror for the rest of your life you will always see how beautiful you are.  Promise?" I held out my pinky for the universal seal of a deal.  She locked her pinky in mine and said she promised.  

I turned her around and she squealed and clapped with delight.  Cameras flashed, her parents, teary eyed, thanked me and took their princess on her way.  I watched them walk all the way out of the store before another FGIT moved me off stage.  My eyes were burning and as soon as the door clicked shut I did not even attempt to stop the flow of tears.

I could feel the inside of my chest aching, my limbs tingling.  I was every emotion at once.  Happy because I had made my Princess happy, angry because it wasn't fair what was happening to her and her family, frustrated because no amount of glitter and nail polish would ever fix it, and sad because my heart was breaking for this beautiful little girl who, at four years old, was stronger and more beautiful than I could ever be.  

I completely broke character.