Once upon a time there was a confused but well-meaning princess who staggered back and forth between the fairy tale and reality with no understanding or regard for what was best for her.
When she was a little girl someone built her an ivory tower and everyone worshiped her from afar and told her half-truths about the big scary hard world out there.
She laughed when she heard tales of things that took place in this imaginary terrifying place where people had the audacity to not follow orders and do her bidding.
After all, she was here in her warm welcoming environment where everything went her way and no one dared not give her what she wanted.
There would never be a time when she would come up against a roadblock or obstacle that her devoted worshipers would not move heaven and earth to destroy for her.
But then one day she rolled off her seventeen carefully placed goose down mattresses and fell right on her royal face. The palace staff had disappeared without a trace.
Where were her royal servants? Why was no one offering to help?
Out in the cold scary world all alone she crossed a long deep river to a place where no one knew her by name and strangers brushed briskly past her with no regard for her royal heritage or importance.
The princess stamped her feet and screamed loudly hoping that these people would see the error of their ways and someone would come running immediately to tend to her needs.
A princess shouldn’t be walking she should be carried!
Why was no one bringing her tea, and where was the court jester to make her laugh? This was madness!
The more she yelled the less attention she got until finally she was all alone sitting on the cobblestone streets of this strange town with mud splattered all over her beautiful sparkly dress.
Tears ran down her pretty face as her curls lost their bounce and she finally lost all hope.
Suddenly the princess decided she’d had enough. She ripped the delicately laced bottom portion of her flowing gown away from the rest of the garment and reached down to pull herself up by her sensible but well soled boot straps.
After wiping the brown tears from her ruddy cheeks she climbed aboard the best looking white pony she could find and rode right up the fucking street before finding the best looking male town dweller she could offering him her royal hand in marriage.
Then she sobered up and realized all she had to do was cross back over the stupid fucking river, hire a new royal staff and roll around in all her money.
So she kicked the man she almost married in the head, condemned the whole town to death and rode home as fast as she could to put an ad in the paper for a new palace executioner.
And that is why I’m not allowed to write fairy tales anymore.