A Woman Who Loves a Tiara

I am a woman who loves a tiara. I own two.

Oh no, I've never been crowned any sort of Queen, Princess or royalty of any kind. I just happen to own two tiaras.

One purchased so that I and my two dearest girls could go as the Queens of Ale, Porter and Stout to a local brewery's annual costume gala (okay, it's held in the back room on concrete floors, but our presence raised it to gala level)

The second was most un-Queenly begged for from my sister (also a woman who loves a tiara). It is currently sitting atop my head as I type this entry. And, in my opinion, should be dusted off at least on a weekly basis - even if only to vacuum and mop my floors.

Every woman has a little Cinderella in us. All of us feel woefully underappreciated and just know in our heart of hearts that our size 10's will fit in that glass slipper. (Just hand me a shoe horn and won't I prove it.) And once we're waltzing in our finest crystal we'll never again have to scrub the refrigerator down or clean hair out of the sink drain.

But a tiara's true purpose is to remind us to raise our chins a bit, walk a little taller, to smile a little sweeter and to gently lower our eyes in false modesty. Because we all really are royalty. Me, my sister, my girls - Queens - one and all. Nothing less than beautifully and regally divine.
This is one of those rare moments when I actually feel sorry for men. For what would I do if deprived my tiara?

Well, I would still raise my chin, walk tall, smile sweetly and gently lower my eyes in false modesty - because the royalty is in us, not an adornment.