Cinderella and Prince Charming after 20 years of marriage.
Ugh! Why does he insist on leaving his sword on the dining room table instead of the sword rack by the front door? I mean the sword rack is right there as he enters the palace. All that is required of him is to turn to his right and de-sword. But somehow, he manages to walk by it every day on his way to the place where the sword doesn’t belong.
And for whatever reason, lately, his preferred landing spot for his princely robes seems to be a heap on the floor instead of the clearly marked golden hamper only two feet away. What an asshole; does he think some friggin fairy godmother is magically picking them up every night? How does he think they get from the floor to the basket? Our poor maids must be beside themselves.
And who does he think is making our quadruple king size bed every day? Sure, I don’t do it either. After all, I’m a friggin princess; we have a hundred servants who take care of that crap, but at least I have watched them while someone files and paints my toenails. If we had to sacrifice them all, heaven forbid, to break some dreaded witches curse, I am sure I would be able to make the bed. But I swear that lump of mine doesn’t even know the location of the linen closet.
I understand that guarding the realm is exhausting work, but so is watching other people raise our two kids, Chad and Joey. Anyone who has kids understands how loud and physical they can be. Keep in mind, it’s different for me. Most people, it’s just their kids who are constantly running around. But in my situation, I also have to deal with the servants keeping up with them.
So many people don’t seem to understand how difficult it can be to deal with so much commotion. For someone with my particular mental health challenge of being an HSP (Highly Sensitive Person), this has a particular draining effect on my daily life. How am I to contemplate the proper dress for the latest ball with all that commotion?
Sometimes I just want to scream, “Everybody, SHUT UP! Chad! Joey! Sit down and be QUIET! You will each go to your rooms and practice sitting on your thrones for the next hour without a SINGLE PEEP! Am I clear?”
Chad, on the way to his room, mutters “Man, mom can be a real bitch sometimes.”
Joey to Chad: “You’re a bitch.”
Cinderella: “I heard that!”
God, I hate my kids. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just surrounded by assholes.
Alas, such is the life of a mother. But if it was just my kids, I would be fine. The truth is; I’m a little worried about Charming.
I understand that he has been feeling lost lately; struggling to find a purpose for his life. He just hasn’t been the same since placing that slipper on the feet of all the ladies in the kingdom. He was just so happy gallivanting across the land, handling hundreds of women’s feet per day. A smile across his face, absolutely beaming! I suppose I understand; purpose is everything. After all, what is a person to do after that? We have tried just about everything, but it seems to be getting worse lately.
For Christmas this past year, one of our servants gave him a pair of slippers. They were quite lovely, but Charming, in a sudden fit of rage, threw the poor guy right out the window to a gruesome death. Needless to say, I was shocked and horrified by his behavior. How could the man I love be capable of such violence? However, while his actions seemed a bit excessive at the time, I did understand his point that the man was being a bit insensitive. After all, everyone knew that Charming hadn’t been able to wear a pair of slippers in years.
However, if I’m being completely honest, killing the man, to this day, still seems like an overreaction. And the worst part and I hate to admit this, but it soured our Christmas brunch; the sausage just wasn’t the same. Christmas is supposed to be the most special day of the year, but my poor husband couldn’t even enjoy it. It was at this time that I began to worry.
However, a few months later, I began to wake up in the middle of the night to find Charming placing a slipper on my foot. Off, and then on, off and on. He would do this for about 15 minutes before finally relaxing and going back to sleep. When I told my therapist about it, he suggested that perhaps Charming might have a foot fetish. I was aghast and told him that he was being absurd; that this was Prince Friggin Charming he was talking about; he doesn’t get foot fetishes or any other sort of sexual preferences outside the standard boring urges of marital bliss as God intended.
I was so angry. In a fit of rage, I threw my therapist out the window. Storming out of the room in tears, everyone came running; jumping over the body to see if I was ok. It’s times like these, when I’m so grateful to have such wonderful friends.