Her beauty wasn’t the only reason her step-mother kept her locked in the basement. She had the brains of someone far more widely read and the temper of a stallion. Most women found her blunt defiance charming, someone they wanted in their court when everything went to shit, but her step-mother was threatened by this. She could imagine a world where women had each other back and cheered for each other, and she wanted none of it. Better to live in one where she could raise her daughters to be catty and competitive, to alienate themselves from the rest of the world, and grow more miserable with every passing day…
But, alas, this is not a story about a tired old woman and her daughters, who were no less attractive than our girl but rather valued competition over cleverness. This is a story about our girl, a prince and a series of events involving a pumpkin coloured motor vehicle.
It began when an invitation to a party arrived in the mail (of course it did, because all good stories begin at a rave). Step-momsy told our girl to stay behind, because no matter how many times her daughters auditioned for The Bachelor they were still hideously single and their ovaries going to waste. Can’t have our girl there sprouting opinions while she was trying to marry off her spawn to the most eligible bachelor in all the land – they called him a prince because of the coin in his pocket that he used to splurge on cocaine and hookers, and an obscenely pretentious sports car that would only be driven by someone who was compensating… and boy was he compensating hard…
So, our girl waited for step-momsy, twiddle-dee and twiddle-the-other-one, to leave before saying “fuck it” and throwing her sluttiest frock on. She popped her cleavage, lined her lids and gave “the destroyer” a quick shave. She stood in front of the mirror with her hand on her hip, and no, it did not tell her she was the fairest of them all – wrong fucking fairytale dickhead.
Her Uber drivers name was Pam. She was small in stature, probably where the fairy godmother nickname came from, but big on glittery eyeshadow. No one could pull off pink like Pam. The minute our girl got into the car she nodded approvingly with a “dammmmnnn girl!” for good measure. Yeah, Pam was a badass.
Pam pulled the Uber into Princey’s driveway. “Don’t stay out passed midnight” she said with a wink as our girl climbed super awkwardly (because heels and low cars are a nightmare) out of the passenger seat. She revved the engine so all heads turn to our girl before fleeing the scene in the bright orange shitbox of a machine.
Our girl climbed the stairs like only someone who’s had four shots of liquid courage before leaving the house can manage, and made her way inside the party. I won’t lie to you, she hit the buffet first, they always leave this part out of lesser versions of this story despite its importance. She was six spring rolls deep and just starting on the sliders, when old Princey’s best mate approached. He watched her shove and entire slider in her gob and knew he was in love. He was not compensating for anything, he was not one to disappoint, but unfortunately when your besties with a millionaire you often get overlooked. Which is exactly what happened when Princey found him to ask where he’d put the… (for legal reasons this part is best left out)
Together they watched our girl lick her fingers before wiping them dry on her ass, subtle finger prints lining her dress. She cocked her eyebrow at them but their eyes didn’t quite meet hers, it was that damn good bra you see… “Got a durry?” she asked, smirking as their eyes quickly blinked up to hers.
Princey, of course, had all the smokes. He was rich after all. He took her upstairs to the balcony that over looked the backyard. They could smoke privately here. It also happened to be in his bedroom, a detail he left off when telling her to follow him while he grabbed a lighter.
She inhaled while he watched her, thinking about all her curves. She was wondering how many women he’d lured up her, how many he had touched without their consent, but she spoke of the stars asking if he’d heard about the probe that reached Pluto after 9 years.
He moved closer to her as she dropped her durry on the ground and put it out with the sole of her shoe (not made of glass by the way, those come later…). He slung a sloppy hand across her waist, too drunk to do it with any grace, and she grimaced. He smelt of expensive cologne that made her gag, even though she was certain, after that tequila she’d had, she probably smelt just as bad.
“You want me” he said. She was going to roll her eyes, but then she spied the Rolex around his wrist. That she did want, and she wasn’t above using her womanly charms to take the things she wanted, she hardly ever got to have any fun after all.
It was over fast. He was too drunk to keep it up for long. His head hit the pillow with a thud, his arms locked her tightly to his chest, but thankfully (the guy stunk remember) she didn’t have to wait long for the fucker to begin to snore. His grip relaxing with every chest rise and fall.
She wiped herself dry of him on one of his overpriced shirts, while scouring the room. It was full of many priceless items but she wasn’t just some common thief. For her, it wasn’t about money but the thrill of it all.
She zipped her tits back into her dress as she made her way towards the wardrobe. One half was full of typically Princey fashion straight from the runways of Paris. The other was even more on point, women’s clothing all this season, most never worn. Of course he had a girlfriend. No one’s perfect you see, not even dear Princey.
That’s when she spied the glass slippers. They sat in the centre of the shoe rack, sealed off in their own glass case. She giggled to herself as she opened it and slide them onto her feet. Why keep your shoes from Target when you can bedazzle your feet in glass?
The only other thing she took from the wardrobe was a top hat, don’t ask me why. She was flamboyant like that sometimes, or perhaps tempting fate to catch her. A thrill seeker in every way.
She almost forgot the Rolex as she walked like a goddess in her new shoes towards the door. A mutter from Princey drew her attention back to him, the watch glittering on his wrist. It was too easy to take. He barely moved as she yanked his hand and pulled it from his wrist. Clasping it to her own, she slipped back into the party with a glance at the time. It was almost midnight. It was almost a new day.
She wondered how much she could pawn the watch for as she left the party. Surely, it would be worth enough to get her out of this washed up town. She thought of Paris, and all the men she could steal from there, oh, as well as all the history she could learn about; her real passion beyond stealing and greasy foods.
And that, my friends, is why Princey went looking for the girl in glass slippers. He went door to door trying to return the pair of Target heels left beside his bed by the bitch who stole his watch and broke his womenising heart with her callousness.
The only happily ever after belonged to the top hat who went on to have a vibrant life being passed from owner to owner, left on hotel floors all around the world, before finding it’s resting place in a humble hat collector’s château after a full circle, life affirming, trip that saw it returned to Paris years later. But that touching tale is far to heart-warming for a wrench who sat through this garbage tale.