Once Upon A Time

...Once upon a time there was a girl who was a princess. She had golden hair the color of corn silk, and skin that was smooth and pale and glowed like the full moon. Her eyes, as I've heard it told, shone so brightly that they could be seen from across the sea, and her laughter was known the world around for the light and warmth that it brought to those that heard it. And she was beautiful. More beautiful than anyone you've ever seen, that's for sure.

That was, of course, quite a long time ago. The princess did all the princess-y things: she out-smarted an old witch who was trying to trick away her youth and beauty; she trekked through the forests in search of ancient wonders long ago hidden away; and she went to a fancy ball and danced with the handsome prince who, as I'm sure you know, then went on to ask her hand in marriage. And at the wedding she laughed, and her laughter rang with the bells in the steeple, and everyone in the kingdom felt a certain joy to have heard it. And she knew, from all the story books she had read in secret under her goose-down blankets when her parents thought her asleep in her bed, that it was about this time that she was supposed to live happily ever after. And so she grew up, and ever after drew ever closer.

And she smiled and laughed to herself when she thought about it all, about what had happened and what was to come, and even her quiet laughter sprinkled like snowflakes over the land. It was quite pleasant, she supposed, to live in a huge, enchanted castle with servants who adored her and accommodated her every whim. It was very nice that bluebirds came and fluttered about her as she sang in the garden, chirping and rustling their feathers. And it was great to have an attractive prince for a husband, if you know what I mean.

But the girl, now grown up, knew that something was missing. She felt that, despite the smiles that she put on peoples' faces as she passed them in the marketplace, the life she was living was predictable. Her life was a fable, a tale passed on by mothers to their children as she tucked them in at night, and she couldn't ignore a certain nagging feeling at the back of her mind.

And so she cut her hair and enrolled at a liberal arts college, taking courses in psychology and women's studies. And she learned about female stereotypes, and archetypes, and learned to dissect the idealism and fantasy that had always troubled her a little bit down to their roots in oppression and egoism. And she joined the crew team -- though she wasn't thrilled about getting up at four in the morning, what with psych at 10am and barely enough time to bolt down a frozen waffle for breakfast -- and she got a part-time job at Cafe Libra on the corner across from the campus bookstore. She began to hang out with the hipsters, and listen to National Public Radio -- I mean, Terry Gross says some really insightful shit sometimes, you know? -- and she really loved her job at the coffee shop because they only sold fair trade coffee, and she could like totally dig that.

And one day her cell phone rang, and it was her husband the prince calling to ask if she was going to come home when the semester was over, because he and the rest of the people in the kingdom just weren't as happy without her beauty and her laughter to brighten the days.

And she gave him a derisive snort, a laugh drenched in sarcasm, cutting off his words. And she said, "You know, that sounds like an emotional dependency issue, and it really isn't my responsibility."

And then she hung up. And, wearing a little smirk on her face, she curled up in her 100% cotton sheets and went to bed. Well, first she checked her email, and played a few rounds of Text Twist. But then she went to bed.

And she felt good.