It never hurts to ask

You know those books that shaped your childhood? The books that you carried everywhere, that you reread a million times, and that you couldn't bear to be parted from?

Mine was called, "The Ordinary Princess," and it's the best book in the world.

I had a love affair with this book when I was little. I must've checked it out from the local library at least a thousand times. I found it by happenstance – let's face it, you've probably never heard of it. Most people haven't. I must've on a princess kick at the time (which means I went to the library and searched for "princess") because otherwise I would never have discovered this gem.

The story is simple: there's a princess named Amethyst Alexandria Augusta Araminta Adelaide Aurelia Anne. At her christening, Amethyst is cursed by a fairy. Her curse is to be ordinary.

Psychologically, I assume the book struck a chord with me when I was younger because I felt ordinary. Amy (as her family called her – "and what could be more ordinary than that?") wasn't pretty. She had mousy brown hair and freckles. She was, however, smart, witty, and charming. Throughout the story, Amy never allowed her six older, beautiful, perfect sisters to intimidate her. Instead, she created the life she wanted to have, found her prince, and they lived happily ever after. Naturally any young, awkward, insecure girl would find the story perfect, and I did. What could be better than a strong and self-sufficient princess who finds her true love?

The answer is NOTHING.

Even after I got older, I still checked out the book so often that one of the librarians commented every time I put it on the counter. I didn't care. It's a piece of my childhood that will never get old.

Of course, once I grew up, I decided I wanted a copy of the book for myself. Thanks to a lovely little thing called eBay, I snagged a cheap one without any trouble. The book was recently reprinted, so you can get it on Amazon, etc., but the cover is hideously ugly. I refused to support the desecration of my book by buying that lousy thing.

It was only after the eBay book showed up at my house that I discovered how truly special the version I grew up with was. One of the neat things about the book is that the illustrations were all done by the author, M.M. Kaye. They're charming and dainty; beautiful in their simplicity.

My little eBay paperback included some of the drawings, but a quick perusal left me full of disappointment. For some reason, while the black and white drawings were still there, the three full-page color drawings in my childhood library copy had been cut out. I'm sure nobody else in the world noticed or even knew that drawings were missing, but I knew. It was like a knife to the heart.

Drawings like these were absent:

DO YOU SEE WHAT A LOSS THIS IS?!

I missed those color drawings keenly. I couldn't read my paperback without silently mourning. Because of that, I wasn't satisfied with my little paperback (which also had an ugly cover, by the way.) Instead, I coveted the hardcover library copy. I wanted it badly. I devised all sorts of devious plans - buying the ugly Amazon copy and switching the stickers and library pocket while nobody was looking, seeing if the librarians would do a straight trade for an Amazon upgrade, checking it out and pretending to lose it... I never acted on the plans because I would've felt like a criminal, but I sure thought about them.

Every time I visited my hometown and saw the library, that hunger for "The Ordinary Princess" would reawaken. Finally, last week, acting on much encouraging by my mom and an overwhelming yearning for my book, I decided to go to the library. I planned to ask them to let me know if they ever decided to get rid of the old book from 1984.

It wouldn't hurt to ask, would it?

Truth be told, I nearly lost my nerve when I got to the library, because the librarian who knew my passion for the book wasn't there, nor was the head librarian, who I know pretty well. It's a small town - you know people. The only person there was a librarian named Stephen. (Or Steven.) I found my book (didn't even have to look it up; I knew right where it would be) and alternated between chickening out, putting the book back, and starting toward the checkout counter a couple of times.

But the thing with asking is this: the worst somebody can tell you is "no."

So I took that beautiful, blue, hardback book with the faded cover of a princess who looks like her head is on backward (see the cover at the top of the post) and I put it down on the counter.

"I have a strange request," I said. "I must've read this book five million times while I was growing up, and I was wondering if there was some way you could contact me if the library ever decides to get rid of it."

"Let me see," Stephen/Steven said. 

He picked up my book and scanned it, then scrolled through a couple of things, humming to himself. Then, with a smile, he pulled the library pocket off, put the book on the counter, and slid it over to me. I suspect my face looked like this:

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Nobody has checked it out for three years; it's yours."

I offered to pay, but he refused. I then thanked him so profusely that he probably thought I was crazy. Then I cuddled the book with a sense of reverent awe all the way to the car. I was like a junkie. If Stephen/Steven would've seen me driving clear back to Salt Lake with the book on my lap, he probably would've doubted the wisdom of giving it to me in the first place, but it's too late now...

THE BOOK IS MINE!

It's sitting beside me as I type this, and I can't stop myself from glancing over and smiling. I love this book. I love it so much. Sure, it's all of 112 pages long. Sure, it's meant for third graders. Sure, it's cheesy. But you know what?

I don't care. 

I've loyally waited for this book for a good 15 years, and now it's mine. To quote The Court Jester: "Life couldn't possibly, not even probably, life couldn't possibly better be!"

Lavender's blue

Rosemary's green

When I am King

You shall be Queen