Pretty, Pretty Princess


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.



Filed under I can't end a story OR a blog post, I like to stamp my feet, or princess, princess tales, reasons why I don't write kids books, why is this tea cold

30 responses to “Pretty, Pretty Princess

  1. Tom G.

    So, where is the frog in this story? Aren’t all fairy tales required to have a frog?

    • dufmanno

      No frogs, with the exception of one fringe character who’s there to offer sage advice on occasion and to serve as comic relief.
      Like Jimeny Cricket but without all the nagging and tophat.
      Ok maybe a tophat.

  2. Ahhhh. I miss rolling around in money too. Shall we exchange currency as they do have different textures you know.

  3. p.s. That picture of Your Royal Highness, if I am allowed to say so, is absolutely adorable. Who would not want to carry you around, even without being threatened with death?!

    • dufmanno

      Awww thanks! I wish I could have found a more diamond heavy bejewled crown but I came up short.
      I will have the royal tiara maker shot.
      That means I will be executing myself but we’ll just overlook that and keep playing.

  4. dufmanno

    Tom- Only when you aren’t looking.
    Why won’t my own blog let me respond right under your response?!!! Off with it’s HEAD!!!!!

    • Tom G.

      I could explain how to change it so it does, but I’d rather see you behead it.

      Also, I blame that Cartoon as the genesis of my neurosis. Michigan J. Frog, and Snuffleufagus

  5. What is it with you and the breaking of blog comments?

    Also, does this mean you’re hiring? I’m looking for an opportunity that will fully utilize my unique pea hiding skill set.

  6. What’s scary is that this reminds me of my almost 8 yr. old daughter. Of course, she’d never rip a beautiful sparkly dress. Not in a million years.

    • dufmanno

      This started off as a weird recounting of an epic fit thrown by my daughter last night and morphed into a coming of age story about a spoiled rotten child who is thrust into a world unprepared for reality and then I just started killing people for fun.
      Um, so what that means is I can’t stay on topic and once I get off on a tangent I just ride it until the body count gets too high.

  7. is this some kind of allegory expressing your fear of having to go back on the tour bus and give out free blow jobs? if so, don’t worry, your loyal minions will make sure to keep our pretty princess on the right side of the river.

    • dufmanno

      No fear. Although I promised Stewart and my husband that until the Police reunited I would try to steer clear of all tour buses.

      Also to clarify for husband who is scratching his head wondering why she would kick the marital suitor in the cranium- the fellow she kicks in the noggin is NOT YOU. It’s that OTHER guy.
      You are awesome.

      • I’m not scratching my head. This is your world and I’m an interloper. As much as I love your writing, I’m not reading anymore. You need to be free to say whatever the hell you want to say without wondering what I will think. I love you.

  8. Ry Sal

    Sounds like my week so far and a perfect segway into a weekend filled with rolling around in money. That’s play money sticky with whatever the two year smeared all over it … That will enevitably end up in my hair.

    • dufmanno

      Note to self, soak money in honey so it sticks to me creating carefree currency type of garment that can be worn out in public. Well, it can be worn carefully.

  9. dufmanno

    okay, and wait a minute did my husband just “Dear John” me?
    Why won’t you let me comment next to his comment stupid blog!!!
    TOM!!! Tell me the secret so I can respond properly to people!!
    I’m sorry, that wasn’t nice. I just had a Veruca Salt moment but now I’m better.
    Let me readjust my tiara on my huge lopsided head.

    • Tom G.

      I always knew you were a bad egg.

      OK, click on your Dashboard, then along the left hand column click on “Settings” then “Discussion”

      under “other comment settings” you can set the number of columns of comments. (Enable threaded (nested) comments ___ levels deep.)

      Sorry, I wish I could help you with the lopsided head too.

      • Hey Tom, wouldn’t it be simpler if we all just gave you our admin names and passwords and let you handle this for us? I mean, I can not reply directly to anyone on my WP blog. VERY irritating and I haven’t the time to fix it. *sigh*

        Okay, okay, I will do it myself.

  10. I LOVE THIS. You need an illustrator.

    • dufmanno

      Agreed. But the only illustrator I know worth his salt is currently tied up on another project.
      Perhaps I can entice him with this second leather mask I have handy? Don’t worry Shawn, I have one for you too!
      The only request I have is that the princess have knobby knees and big feet other than that I’m giving you free reign.

  11. I’m grabbing my my tiara, hopping on my high horse and you, Miss Princess and I are going to play polo with the heads of the commoners using our septres as polo sticks. (or what ever those giant mallet things are called)

    Then later we will dine on champagne and kitten paws. Because we can.

    • dufmanno

      I like my kitten paws breaded and fried. Champagne I like any old way as long as it is consumed out of a diamond encrusted, never before worn stiletto shoe.
      I can’t wait to play dress up with you especially since you included mallets and rolling dembodied heads.
      Too bad we didn’t know each other as toddlers.

  12. Eric

    If you do listen to the censors, which I don’t suggest doing, at least don’t quit writing fairy tales before finishing the one about the imp and the sad minotaur…

    • dufmanno

      The reason I like the idea of the sad minotaur is because they are always typecast as angry belligerent brutes when we all know that inside they are silently crying.
      Imps obviously tunnel their way straight from the bowels of hell so they’ve always got something interesting to bring to the table. Like tales from the third circle.

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