Wrapunzal, a modern retelling

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

A modern retelling of the classic story, Rupunzel, but with a few 20th century twists!

Page 1

My name is Wrapunzel, and yes I am a chef, a wrap chef to be precise. The thing is, I hate wraps! They are flavourless, usually fall unto your lap before you have even taken a bite, and, well I am called Wrapuzel, it's not a very flattering name you know! Excuse me, don't laugh! Imagine being called Wrapunzel...

Anyway, that's enough about me, let me read the story of Wrapunzel to you. Oh yeah, the story is about me anyway, never mind, that can't be a bad thing can it?

And, in case you're asking, I wouldn't like any sweet treats. It's very kind of you to offer though, but, I can't hurt your feelings by refusing a slice of cake.

Page 2

(Hint, give me some cake) I really like cake by the way.

Gosh, you wouldn’t know a hint even if it came and punched you in the face!
Ok, I’ll say the magic word if I really have to. 
There you go, I’ve said it. What? The wrong word? It isn’t the wrong magic word. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I will now tell you the story of my life, with a piece of cake, mind.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I will now tell you the story of my life, with a piece of cake, mind. And don’t forget the cake-flavoured tea. Yes, its on the left in the larder. Alright, I will tell you a bit of my story while the cake is boiling, no sorry, the kettle.

Page 3

My birth mother was the goddess of the earth, trees and plants. Unfortunately, she married a husband who is 1/4 wheat, 1/4 milk, 1/4 egg and his great, great, great grandfathers cousin twice removed, husband-in-laws, half brother was the god of things-that-get-stuck-in-drawers and his wife was the goddess of long blonde hair.

Hence me being a minor goddess.

When I was still in my mother’s tummy, she got a deadly disease called strangle-baby-in-parsnips-potatoes-carrots-and-corn-itis. 
It would strangle me in root vegetables and corn.

Page 4

So she called for the doctor all the way from Cheesy-Hills.
His diagnosis was to give my mother a quarter of a cup of spicy-nacho-wrap leaves daily for 1 month.

The doctor told my parents, that on his way to our little cottage, he had seen a plentiful-looking tree full of healthy spicy-nacho-wrap-leaves. Maybe you could ask your neighbour for some! 
Good day!
And off he walked. Now, YOU would say, well just go round to your neighbours house and ask for a few leaves! It wasn’t quite as simple as that... You see, our neighbour was the WITCH GODDESS!

Page 5

There had been many people that had gone in through the front door and never come out again... So my parents devised a plan. 
My father would sneak out at midnight, pick a few leaves and nobody would notice. Anyway, it wasn’t stealing, he would give them back once they where digested...

So, in the dead of night, he crept out into the cool night air, towards the seemingly friendly little cottage, picked a few spicy-nacho-wrap-leaves and tiptoed back home.

This carried on for 3 and a 1/2 weeks.
But one night as he crept into the witches garden, the witch spotted him.
She walked out of the front door and said, “ What are you doing picking my spicy-nacho-wrap-leaves?”

Page 6

My father replied, “Oh,” as he deposited the poop offering in her garden. 
“Well, you see, my wife is very ill and needs 1/4 of a cup of spicy-nacho-wrap-leaves per day for one month and then our baby will be safe.” 
The witch goddess said, “ Well, you can take all the spicy-nacho-wrap-leaves you want, for only one thing in return, will you give the baby when its born?”

“Yes, of course,” said my father, thinking that the witch was an old woman and probably pretty forgetful (my father wasn’t the cleverest man being sort of directly related to the god of things-that-get-stuck-in-drawers.)

Page 7

So didn’t calculate that there was only 1/2 a week left until the end of the spicy-nacho-wrap-leaves treatment, and even the oldest lady couldn’t forget that fast! (Well, maybe a lady with dementia, but that’s not the point.) 
“Bye,” he called. 

He trudged back to our little cottage. Four days later my mum gave birth.

Only one day after she had given birth, the witch goddess came to claim her reward for all those cupfuls of spicy-nacho-wrap-leaves.


Page 8

Knock, knock!

My father excitedly ran down the stairs expecting it to be the cheese deliveryman on his weekly errands. But instead, found the witch goddess. “Hello, I have come to collect the baby,” said the witch. “Er, what baby?” he said hopefully. 

The witch pushed past him and walked into our cottage, climbed upstairs, took the baby (me) and briskly flew away, all in promptly 2.5 seconds. 

You are probably thinking I have mixed up the characters and thought the witch was a super hero?

Page 9

But no, reader, I have not done that, the witch simply created a potion that made her super fast. 
She took me to a really tall tower in the woods and locked me up there. You might be wondering how the witch can get up to give me food and drink? 
Well, she climbs up my long hair, obviously! And are you also questioning how my hair is so long?

Gosh, you are one for questions, aren’t you! In my baby milk formula she put in some Golden Root which makes your hair grow long and blonde. (Along with my distantly-related relatives genes. You know the people I mean!) That potion was really potent because I actually had red hair when I was born!

Page 10

On my 13th birthday my “mum” bought me a iPhone. You are now thinking, will she ever meet the prince? The answer is, be patient. By the time I was 18 I knew the in’s and out’s of the digital world and had seen several advertisements for online dating.

I decided that it wouldn’t hurt to explore and pressed on the link. It took me to a website called Love Is Us.

My profile picture was a really good selfie with lot’s of beauty filters and teeth whiteners included. Yeah, its called digital beauty, duh!
I saw this really handsome boy and booked a date. The only problem was, I couldn’t get out of the tower to meet him!

Page 11
I decided to phone him. I dialled 124 543 196 and he picked up the phone. 
I said, “Hi, I have booked a date with you, but there is a tiny problem. I live in a miniature tower, in the middle of nowhere, and there are no doors to get out!” 

He said “I have a plan, I will come to you on my dragon. By the way, you are only on the outskirts of London, so you probably accidentally shared your location with me.” “Ok, its a date! Bye!”

The night before I had done some romance research and found out all of “the signs” so I was rearing to go!
Page 12
As the man flew up to my window he said...

“Hi, my name is Ethan and this is my dragon Double-Chocolate-Cake-With-Strawberry-Icing-And-Vanilla-Sprinkles. Whats your name?” “Well my name is, um, errr, well, I didn’t choose it but well, its, um, Wrapunzal...” 

“Cool name! I really love you, even though I have only just met you! Will you come on my dragon to my humble abode? Well it’s a flat above a restaurant actually. I am a chef there.”
Page 13
“Yes please,” I said excitedly.

When we had finally finished flying, he took me into his flat. It was beautiful, with a room just for Ethan’s dragon!
He asked me if I wanted some cake. I said that I had never tried cake before but I would like to! 

He called, “dragon-chocolate-thingy-can’t-remember-your-full-name. Breathe cake.” Amazingly, the dragon breathed little coco cupcakes!
“ Yummy, cake is delicious! This is my new favourite food!”
Page 14
Many years later we had children called Coco (after chocolate cake),
Victoria (after Victoria Sponge), 
Apple (apple crumble), 
Berry (for the jam), 
Charlotte (a dessert made with lady fingers) and Madeline (pretty french cookies). 

The restaurant needed a wrap chef, so I became the wrap chef! 
I had learnt some interesting flavours and even though I didn’t like the food I made, other people did.
Page 15
So now I am the most famous wrap chef in the world and my little restaurant, Wrap-A-Manger, is now also famous!

Ethan is nearly as famous a pastry chef as Mary Berry, so he has big plans for our son, Berry.

My children are all good cooks, except for Madeline who is now an amazing hairdresser and chief hairstylist for Vogue (pretty handy for my long hair!) 
So that’s how the story ends, happily. 
“Um, Mummy, sorry, I dropped the berry cake from the fridge, and it has splattered all over the floor.” 
Oh no, bye!

Submitted: March 24, 2019

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