When I next see Dorothy Friday evening, you can picture us curled up in my sofa sipping a nice glass of bubbly and enjoying a box of pralines.
“Why did you call Cindy a manipulator?” I definitely can’t let the details go. I have to know. And I have to show off that I’m a smartass: “The French invaded England, but surely that was in 1066?”
“Yes yes, you are right,” Dorothy humours me.
“So I was a witch and got burned,” I continue staring out in front of me. “Hence the faint spots on my legs.”
“Cindy got Shrek in the end, you know.” Dorothy throws my way and I can see her gauging me for a reaction.
“And I got my head chopped off at least once,” I think back to past lives and the influence these human experiences have left on my current state of being. “It was Fiona who got Shrek. Get your facts right!”
“Aren’t you Fiona?” Dorothy teases me.
“I am,” I say and I get a mental image of Alice in Wonderland talking to the Caterpillar.
“See,” Dorothy says pointedly. “Question is, who is Shrek?!”
“Cinderella caught Fiona’s wedding bouquet in the movie because she desperately wanted to get married,” I just can’t help myself correcting her. “Shrek should really find me. And then convince me he is Shrek.”
“And he will,” Dorothy states in an all-knowing tone.
“He sure did in the last movie, the one with Rumpelstiltskin,” I am having vivid flashbacks of that film. “You think he will?”
“Yes he will,” says Dorothy a little too sure about herself. “It’s in your cards.”
“But you haven’t done my cards…” I look at her questioningly.
“How do you know?” Dorothy gives me a defiant look.
“You have?” I’m not hiding the element of surprise in my voice. “You shouldn’t though. Not without my permission.”
“I gave myself permission,” Dorothy says smugly.
“Well I’m glad you did. I can’t read myself, you know.” I smile at her. “Thank you for that. Anything else exciting you saw in the cards?”
Dorothy shakes her head.
I continue questioning her: “Any idea who he is, Shrek? Will we be successful with our project? Did the cards say anything about me becoming rich and famous? Anything about love, friends, happiness, abundance? Good health? Any warnings?”
“You don’t ask much,” Dorothy finally opens up. “You will have a lover for one night.”
“Nooooooo!” I shout incredulously and I feel a strong disapproval towards myself. My own inner warning not to be silly again. No more Silly Cindy for this woman. “Whoever it is, we can talk and drink cocoa all night but nothing more.”
“Oh yes, you will. You will give up yourself totally to this lover.” Dorothy nods at me and looks me intently in the eyes. “All night long.”
I’ve started to sulk and have crossed my arms and legs.
“Can we smoke a joint?” Dorothy asks out of nowhere.
“Oh no darling, that’s a dangerous thing to do. I’d tell you all my secrets if we did.” I nudge her softly.
“I think that’s a pretty good deal,” Dorothy’s eyes are sparkling. “Oooh wonderful. Yes!”
“I’ll need to find some though,” I have not a clue who I could ask a joint from, but I’m going to be tough and pretend it’s just a matter of a few phone calls.
“Do you know where to get a joint locally?” Dorothy urges me on.
“I’ll ask around.” I tell her. This tactic kind of puts the problem in the future. And I change the subject back: “What else did the cards say?”
“Nothing more,” Dorothy is sulking. It’s her turn now.
“Oh pooh,” I blow. “Not much then.”
“No not much. Just the usual.” Dorothy is sulking and keeps her voice evenly bored.
“Or just what suits the moment,” I am sabotaging her all knowingness. She must be wrong about the cards.
“Yes,” Dorothy replies. Oh I hate it when she gets all moody like that.
“You sound like guru Marc now!” I gently mock her, but to no avail.
“I say we drink champagne instead of smoking joints,” I decide to set the record straight. “I don’t want to smoke marihuana anymore. It messes up my head.”
Still no response from Dorothy, so I push a little further. If she’s going to be off, then I can certainly give her more reason to be annoyed.
“The Battle of Hastings took place in 1066, you know.” I’m waiting for a reaction, any kind of reaction, but she’s just sitting there completely lethargic. “1666 was the year of the Great Fire of London.”
Dorothy finally looks up, downs her champagne glass in one go and gets up. “Talk to you tomorrow maybe.” She kisses me softly on the cheek and disappears in a halo of mystery. What was all that about?
We all have that inner voice that seems intent on self-sabotage, stopping us from taking risks, sticking to diets and vows to exercise, or raising our hands for new opportunities. It is that part that simply says, “You can’t, you’re not strong enough, you’re not good enough, you don’t deserve this.” In fact, these limiting self-beliefs are so pervasive, even with people who seem imperturbable and unstoppable.
What do you think? Will Shrek find Fiona, and who is he? Let me know in the comments below.