The skies are dark, the constant threat of storms are heavy in the air. I wander into a boutique with my family. We are mesmerized by way the store appears to go on for miles. The endless racks holding what seem to be an infinite number of dresses are overwhelming. My sister tries on dresses. My mother assists her. My sister, a friend, and myself wait patiently for her reveal in the room. We notice a display of tiaras and veils, and, like any woman would, we find ourselves admiring their sparkly radiance. Our friend picks up a tiara and places it on my head saying, "This one was made for you!" I take a step back and pivot in the direction of the oval-shaped standing mirror. My eyes widen. My jaw drops. I catch my breath. It is surreal. I bring my hand to my head, smoothing my hair. I run my fingers over the rhinestones. I take a mental photograph to save for future reminiscing. I remove the tiara from my head and place it back on the table. It was that moment that I realized I was born to wear it.
I was born with blond hair. It was around age four when my parents cut my hair. Shortly after, my hair turned brown. It has remained brown for the last seventeen or eighteen years. An unfortunate truth about my hair is it grows at a very slow pace. It is exceptionally frustrating. It is not straight, it is not curly. It does not hold a curl made with a curling iron or rollers.
When I was born, my parents couldn't hold me for over a week. They tell me I was sick, but I have to wonder if I really was. Maybe, just maybe, if something else was going on. Perhaps a switch...
Have you figured it out yet?
These stories, along with the stories written here, I have come to the conclusion that I am the lost princess.
You're laughing.
I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to stop.
You know I don't believe in coincidence, so... how else do you explain it?
I was born with blond hair. It was around age four when my parents cut my hair. Shortly after, my hair turned brown. It has remained brown for the last seventeen or eighteen years. An unfortunate truth about my hair is it grows at a very slow pace. It is exceptionally frustrating. It is not straight, it is not curly. It does not hold a curl made with a curling iron or rollers.
When I was born, my parents couldn't hold me for over a week. They tell me I was sick, but I have to wonder if I really was. Maybe, just maybe, if something else was going on. Perhaps a switch...
Have you figured it out yet?
These stories, along with the stories written here, I have come to the conclusion that I am the lost princess.
You're laughing.
I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to stop.
You know I don't believe in coincidence, so... how else do you explain it?
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