I’m jumping up and down excitedly as Dorothy walks into my kitchen on Wednesday. Well not too excited, because I’ve just had a tooth implant done. And everybody knows how fussy I am about going to the dentist.
“Dorothy darling, I no longer relate to Dorothy Gale from Oz!” I realize I am totally making sense, but hoping Dorothy gets my kind of crazy. “I’m Silly Cinderella!”
There is a long awkward pause which I take as a cue to continue my line of thoughts.
“The proof: I am working my ass off, and being bullied by my mother and half-brothers,” I look at her expecting a show of the aha-moment, but her face remains blanco. “And I want to go to the ball and meet my prince. A prince with a shoe fetish. Hopefully he’s got expensive taste and he likes Louboutin, or Prada, or Jimmy Choo.”
Dorothy still stands there blinking at me. Then she slowly moves towards the kettle to get a cup of tea going. All this time she’s watching me without breaking eye contact.
“Which means you’re no longer my Wizard of Oz. You can be my Fairy Godmother instead.” I’m making this sound like a huge promotion. “You’ll magic me a pumpkin carriage and colour me beautiful. Then when the prince finds me and fits a Prada shoe on my foot, I’ll be rich and powerful. My mother and brothers will then ask for forgiveness for all the nasties they have done. Of course I will gracefully accept their apologies.”
Still no reaction from Dorothy. This requires a grand finale and big arm gestures.
“Then I’ll live happily ever after.” I sit down at the kitchen table and beam at her. I’m waiting for my applause and congratulations on this very serious business plan. The objectives are at least very commendable.
“I hope this comes true for you,” Dorothy finally replies in a tone too soft to meet my enthusiasm. “But I will remain the Wizard of Oz. I will make your case to your Fairy Godmother.”
“You know in some versions of the story there is no Fairy Godmother but Leonardo da Vinci, the inventor, instead.” I look at Dorothy expectantly. She might like being an inventor. “Hence you can help me to re-invent myself.”
Dorothy is thoughtfully stirring the tea, as if there are deep thoughts brewing up in her mind. So I take the opportunity to continue my plan.
“I’ve already been locked away and stripped off my beautiful dress,” I remind her. “Locked away as in the great family shunning. And stripped off my beautiful dress, as in stripped off all what I held dear or thought to be true.”
Dorothy solemnly hands me a cup of steaming hot tea and, still sunken into her own thoughts, starts to blow her cup gently.
“Does this sound nutty?” I want to find out. “Dorothy’s ruby slippers were stuck to her feet. She couldn’t take them off. And Silly Cindy lost one of her slippers…”
Here I go, making connections because certain elements stand out. At the same time ignoring the context is completely different for both imaginary damsels.
“No, you don’t sound nutty. Not at all. Metaphors are lovely,” Dorothy sips her hot tea slowly. “I think Cindy was just a manipulator.”
“She was?” I look at her surprised. Can’t remember anything of that part in the fairy tale. “Why do you say that?” And then to add some extra vigour and credibility to my statements: “I am working my ass off, you know.”
“She teased the prince with a blow job and left her slipper instead of her hankie.” Dorothy looks at me with big eyes.
“What difference does it make, between the slipper and the hankie?” I’m giving her my evil look now. Don’t burst my bubble, Dorothy.
“The slipper can only fit her foot as it was made to fit,” Dorothy remarks. “Not like shoes in a shop.”
I let out a deep sigh and find my spirits plummeting into despair. I was so sure there was gold to be found in my new archetype.
“Is Wim your dying prince?” Dorothy starts to tease me now there where it hurts most.
“That’s not funny, Dorothy!” I shout at her woundedly. “You’re making it sound like Swan Lake.”
“It’s not meant to be funny,” Dorothy says dryly. “Yes tragic, isn’t it?”
“He’ll survive,” I say in defence. There is something about this conversation that is bothering me, but can’t for the life of me figure out what it is, or what I’m feeling in reaction to it.
“I hope for your sake,” Dorothy grins my way. “Otherwise I will be stuck with you for ever.”
Dorothy starts pulling weird faces at me. At which we both just burst out laughing and finish off our tea with an extra helping of chocolate mousse. Mmmm delicious!
What do you think? Which archetype best suits me, and which one for Dorothy? Do you have an archetype you identify with? Let me know in the comments below.