happy endings

The other night, I found myself watching a version of "Cinderella" on the TV. My channel-surfing just paused as the age-old fairy tale unfolded. Yes, I knew the ending and yes, I could remember most of the particulars on the way to that ending, but I paused anyway and let the story unfurl before my eyes. There was a happy ending in the offing and lately I have been drawn to happy endings: What the hell, they're part of the potential too and besides, they make me feel good even if my widest experience suggests that crediting happy endings is frequently a fool's errand.

I didn't much care if I were immersing myself in a lie. Every now and then it's pleasant to be lied to and warmed: Most of the subjects I imbue with "truth" are quite fabulous as well, so why shouldn't I at least wring a little contentment out of this lie that doesn't pretend to be a truth?

I like feeling happy. I am tired of feeling sad.

Go ahead and lie to me.

Someone will be along shortly to disabuse the treacly and convinced. And in the meantime I can lay down the burden of a sharpened set of wits. Happy endings -- literally -- are getting the best of me lately. I am unlikely to lie down and spread my legs to those who sell me treacle (or terror either, for that matter), but when I'm doing the selling, well, that is increasingly OK with me.

Who said "dotage" was a bad thing?