Cinderella Whore Shoes and Other Good Lessons

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Being born into a life of unshaven pits, patchouli in place of deodorant, and carob instead of chocolate I failed to fit in on all levels. I thought K-Mart was the shit. My dream was to one day try cereal that was brightly colored and had its own animated cartoon character to tell me how magically delicious it was, eat a flat, fast food hamburger, and to buy my own processed cheese that was in its individual cute little wrapper. The thought of sandwiches in which the bread did not have hard parts that felt like they would crack a tooth and so many sprouts that it looked like your sandwich had hair seemed like an unattainable dream. White bread looked so soft that you could make a bed made of it and sleep like you had never slept before. Needless to say, I was NOT one of the cool hippie kids. I was a constant embarrassment to my Mother, whose status quos of the Queen Bee of the leather wrapped vegetarian cult was important to maintain and to have a kid that longed for polyester and did not think nude sunbathing was something that anyone needed to do. The world did not need to see my private parts, and at that age I was pretty eye level with ….well..with saggy ball sacks. I was constantly running into things because my eyes were always downcast as to not get a hairy brain-like swinger in my face. This atmosphere did not uphold to fairy tales. These were not the stories told. There was talk of this not promoting good image of women, always needing a man to rescue her. I had a bad secret; I loved them. I pined for Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Cinderella….oh their vibrant gaudiness and that prince coming to save her every time. To slay each evil queen or stepmother….and carry her off into pure happiness (never told you what happened after the sunset). And she always got to trade her not so cute clothes for a fantastic “princess dress”. I hid these books under my bed, like porn. They were not The Velveteen Rabbit (that story had morals) they were not The Giving Tree ( that promoted unconditional love even when the boy is a selfish asshole, and it also promoted using all of the tree which was good for the earth). But there could be no story of the princess pricking her finger on the spindle and sleeping for a 100 years, or of a fairy Godmother that could magically turn pumpkins into carriages and mice into horses. I grew up, and outgrew my love of white bread, K-Mart, sugar cereals, I do not like fast food, nor processed cheese…and, sadly, I do not like fairy tale. I have three copies of The Giving Tree in the house and 1 Velveteen Rabbit. I have saved Watership Down, just in case one of the kids want to read it ( I have cried too many times when reading it to have not freaked the kids out, and not one of them will go near it). Not sure what any of this means…maybe I learned the lessons I should have learned? Maybe being a rebel for me meant liking all the things that I was told not to? I still am on the fence about sprouts and don’t enjoy seeing vast amounts of saggy ball sacks. So maybe I picked the best lessons? I do know one thing…Cinderella wore whore shoes…Have you seen what glass slippers really look like????

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