Driving through Orlando the other day, I passed a billboard advertising Disney's "Princess Makeover." It got me thinking which Princess I would be, you know, if I did that whole Princess thing.

And that got me thinking what kind of Disney-esque names I could give the animals who live with me. Grumpy, Lumpy, and Dopey? Or maybe Thunder Mouth, Barks at Nothing, and Craps on Porch?

Not long ago, I spent the day at Disney with four children, two teenagers, and my brother-in-law. My "princess makeover" involved getting severely sunburned, even though I had on a dark shirt. I sweated in ninety-degree heat, then my hair frizzed up and my feet turned black in my flip flops when it rained. I got home late at night and was already in my pajamas when a member of my household began whining over some chafing in delicate areas and expressed a need for me to immediately throw a sweatshirt on over my pajamas and go to the 24-hour CVS for a tube of diaper rash cream. So even though I had spent the day surrounded by little girls in princess dresses, I wasn't exactly feeling the princess thing myself.

(And for the record, CVS does not keep the Boudreaux's Butt Paste in the aisle with the diapers. It's next to the toothpaste. Maybe it has something to do with the word "paste"? I realize that product placement in drugstores is not an exact science, but good God, diaper cream next to the toothpaste? Really?)

When my former husband was in rehab, the folks running that joint told me that the Disney model of princess meets prince and then lives happily ever after is caused our marital troubles in the first place.

Huh? First of all, I was never a Disney princess. I never dressed up in the Cinderella gown and said, "Someday my prince will come." My pretend games were a little more realistic than that. I would force my little brother to follow me around pushing my doll in the stroller, instructing him that I was to be called "Mother" and he was "Dear."

Where I got into trouble, I believe, was sitting for hours every day reading romance novels. Now, I grew up in a Christian home, so these were Christian romance novels. The characters didn't kiss until they were engaged. But the formula for every one of these books was the same; the heroine is a needy, often shy and fearful, young woman who meets an older, slightly-flawed-yet-powerful man who treats her horribly at first. But it's just his way of protecting a heart that has been almost mortally wounded by a previous love. Once he realizes just how sweet and perfect and good she is, he falls madly for her and can't wait to marry her so he can treat her like the absolute princess she is for the rest of happily ever after.

Makes you want to vomit, right? But this is the kind of thing a young girl starts reading after a childhood of being taught she's a princess in the Disney tradition. And these girls spin this fantasy in their heads long enough they begin to believe that's how marriage will be. Sadly, reality can't even come close to competing with this dream.

Look at Belle, the young beauty whose love is enough to turn an ugly, brooding beast back into a loving prince. Hell, marriage is almost the exact opposite, don't you think? Those loving princes turn into brooding beasts about six minutes after the honeymoon ends.

Which leads me back to the question of my true princess identity: I've narrowed it down to Princess Bitter Bitch or Princess Chapped Ass. Now, I know that someday my prince will come. He will take one look at my bad attitude and my cadre of uncontrollable dachshunds and will quickly become Prince Heads for the Hills.

As for the "happily ever after" dream? That's a pretty big expectation. I'm shooting for happily ever after every once in a while.  Grace G Adams