Your Billionaire Baller Isn't Coming: The Secret to Real Financial Freedom
Tuesday, June 12, 2012 at 11:13AM Ok I admit it. I’ve got a secret. I’ve got a little Disney princess living inside me. Most days I go for the brown girls: Jasmine, Tiana, Pochohantas, or bad ass Mulan.
But on my particularly dreary days nothing less than Cinderella or Belle will do. Am I proud of this? I’m a 33 year old woman raised with all the feminism I could get from She-ros like Angela Davis, Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, and Oprah. I regularly worry about reinforcing my goddaughter’s sense of intelligence, her athleticism in addition to her beauty. I don’t want her to think being a pretty princess is the only option.
I won’t lie though, I like pretty. I like long hair and pretty nails. I appreciate male attention. I love inspiring men to heights of adoration that culminate in flowers or diamonds or trips, but I’ve learned how dangerous it can be to rest my entire future on these flights of adoration. Cause the truth is, Prince Charming may decide he hates practicing law, or medicine and decide to chuck it all to be a folk musician.
