Entry #73: Cinderella hated Fairytales.
~ The Cinderella Deception by Juliette Harving
I must’ve been missing out on something. All through my childhood, I must’ve not read the same version of Cinderella as everyone else has, because I hate that story. It’s full of fanatical belief Fairy Godmothers and magic and wands.
Okay, maybe I’ve been too harsh. I don’t exactly hate it. More like, I’m sick of it. Because this is the forty-ninth time that Josie has commanded me to read Cinderella to her for a bedtime story.
I’m not being picky or whatever, but there are so many other fairytales out there. You’ve got Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty & The Beast…why Cinderella?
What is it about Cinderella that melts every little girl’s heart? The cute mice that help her sew her dress? The pretty glass slipper that she wears, and promptly loses because of her careless manner of walking? Well, let me tell you this: Mice can’t sew, and glass slippers do not exist.
Trust me, that Cinderella story is getting stale.
“CinDEE! CinDEE! CinDEE!!!” My four-year old sister, Josie, chants loudly, bouncing her little self on the bed to keep time.
She’s never really learnt how to pronounce Cinderella, and, if made to, it always comes out as Cin-dee-lair-la or Silly-della. Either way, it never has comes out right, and she has to settle for ‘Cindy’, which is short for Cinderella and is not too big of a mouthful for her to pronounce.
I sigh, and flip that boring old book in my hands. “Are you sure you don’t want to me to read something else, Josie? Aladdin is a lovely story too.”
“I want to read Cindy.” She declares, a little pout forming on her full lips.
I feel myself giving in. She’s such a sweet, dear little thing, really, with her golden curls. “Read it, NOW.” She commands, and points to that repulsive fairytale.
“Fine,” I mutter, and obediently flip the book open.
I do think it’s so unfair that little kids can pout a little and get all they want. If I were to do that, my parents would think I’ve got a tumour or a bee-sting on my lips or something.
I glance at the first paragraph of the fairy-tale.
Once upon a time, in a far, far away Kingdom, there lived a beautiful little girl named Cinderella.
Cinderella’s father loved his little girl dearly, for his wife had died a long time ago.
Now, when Cinderella was seven, her father married a young, sophisticated woman, who had two little girls named Grisella and Anastasia.
Goodness, you know what? I can recite Cinderella without even looking at the bloody book. I snap the book shut, and immediately start rattling off my condensed version of Cinderella.
“The step-mom and step-sisters, who were jealous bitches, hated Cindy. Cindy’s father died a few years later – oh, boo-hoo – and Cindy was ill-treated like a slave. One day, the Prince of the kingdom threw a ball, and Cindy wanted to go.”
I pause for breath, and look at Josie, only to find her listening intently. Good! So, I continue.
“Her Fairy Godmother said ‘Bibbidy-bobbidy-boo!’ and made Cindy a pretty little dress and glass slippers. Whoo-hoo! At the ball, Cindy dances with the Prince and they’re just about to kiss…BUT!” I say, and pause for dramatic effect.
“BUT! The clock strikes twelve and she has to go because of some stupid curfew. She runs away, but drops her shoe. The Prince picks it up and searches all through the kingdom for the lovely-maiden-whom-I-bet-dropped-her-shoe-on-purpose-because-she’s-such-a-tease! At last, he finds her. The Prince – whom, in my opinion, was a horny bastard with a fetish for feet – sweeps her off her feet, marries her and they live happily ever after.” I finish, and stop to catch my breath.
Whew! Whoever knew fairytales were so exhausting?
Josie stares wide-eyed at me after my monologue. There’s a minute’s silence, and I can almost hear the gears whirring in her brain to process what I’ve just said. When she finally does, she glares at me hotly.
“That’s not like the book,” She sniffs. “You didn’t read the book!”
Goodness. This reminds me of the tenth entry of The Cinderella Deception journal:
Never, ever think your four-year old sister is dumb.You’d be surprised by what that little devil can do.
And to think, I was the one who wrote it, and I can’t even take my own advice.
In case you’re getting a little confused here, that journal belongs to me. For me to write in, for my eyes to see only. ‘The Cinderella Deception’ is the title of my journal. Why? Well, it’s a long story.
It first began when I was about ten, and my younger brother, Jared, was born. My mom was way too busy about my little brother to care about me. So I took pity on her and decided to help her out with the household chores and became so helpful I practically nursed my brother.
I’m pretty certain I would’ve even breastfed him, but I didn’t have boobs at age ten yet. But whatever. Too much information.
Anyway, the older I got, the more my parents saw that I was someone they could rely on. Someone they could trust, someone dependable. They left me to nanny Jared and Josie, and went on long holidays doing I-don’t-know-what-and-neither-do-I-want-to-know.
Now, I’m no Cinderella, that’s for sure. For starters, I’ve got size-five feet, and dear old Cindy probably has size-three or something. But Cinderella’s a nickname my best friend, Callie, has given me. She reckons I do so much work and chores that I may as well be called that.
Not that I’m complaining or anything. I don’t exactly enjoy looking after Jared and Josie, but that can’t be helped, can it? My parents have never once asked my opinion on this arrangement, and they think I’m totally okay with it.
And I guess I am. Of course, I’d like to spend more time shopping or catching movies and all those kind of stuff girls my age do, but looking after my two siblings is the most responsible thing to do, really.
But I digress. Now that I’ve established why I’m labelled Cinderella, perhaps you’d like to know the ‘Deception’ bit.
Okay, in my opinion, I don’t, for one second, believe that Cinderella is as good as she seems. In fact, I’m pretty sure that Cindy’s had her own moments where she grumbled and complained and got jealous of her step-sisters too.
But she’s had put up a façade throughout the entire Fairytale. And at the end, when she got married to her Prince, I’m also pretty certain she was said “To you three fuckers, suck on that!” to her step-mom and step-sisters. It just wasn’t written down by the Grimm Brothers, that’s all.
And this is what I mean by deception. Cinderella’s really such a conniving character.
The same goes for me too. I’m sure I deceive everyone by making them think I’m such a good, golden little girl, with a 4.0 Grade Point Average. I’m not that good actually. I’ve had my own bitchy, hissy-fit moments, and that’s why The Cinderella Deception is on the front cover of my journal, all done up prettily in gold glitter paint.
Now, as I’ve been thinking about all this, I’ve been reading Cinderella to the little devil that is Josie. And finally, when I reach “And they all lived happily ever after!”, I glance up.
Thank God that little munch-kin is asleep. She’s really such a handful sometimes.
I get up from Josie’s pretty pink bed, and head towards my room. I’m just about to enter my room, when a curly blond head pops up from the room next to mine and says “BOO-YAH!”
Scratch that, the real handful is Jared. I swear, that boy simply pulverises me to bits sometimes.
“What do you want, Jared?” I say, wearily. Gosh, when will these buggers ever stop irritating me?
Seven-year old Jared gazes at me innocently. “I just wanted to scare you.” He admits honestly. “I wanted to see you have a blue-fit. Did it work?”
I sigh. That’s Jared all over. He’s always carrying out horrible schemes, but if questioned about it, he would never deny it.
“No, it didn’t.” I say, shortly. “Do I look blue to you?”
Jared stares hard at me, realises I don’t, and sighs in defeat. Before he can say anything more, however, I firmly push him into the room.
“Now, go to bed. Immediately.” I command, and close the door. “Night, Jared.”
“Goodnight,” I hear his forlorn voice from inside the room, and I feel a pang of guilt.
Perhaps I’ve been a little too harsh on the poor boy. After all, I’m practically his parent right now. Mom and Dad are away for a vacation in New Zealand, and who know when they’ll be back?
Whatever. I’ve got tons of school work to do apart from putting up with his nonsense anyway.
I make my way into my room, and close the door behind me. Sighing once more, I settle down in front of my study desk, and pick up my pen.
I’ve got a whole pile of assignments to do. The teachers seem to think our brains are like computers and can generate answers within seconds. I flip open my Literature book and stare at the words.
It’s going to be one long night.
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