Christ! I’m bored out of my fucking skull! Endless, endless parties, wearing stupid,
stupid shoes! Curse my fairy godmother
for getting me into this mess. The men
on about their portfolios and the women talking about babies. Property blah, money blah, nappies ugh, shut
up already!
There’s not
much choice when you’re a Disney Princess.
You start life sweeping a floor singing your heart out full of heady
anticipation; then you become the wife of somebody you meet once at a ball
because you’re so grateful he even danced with you in the first place.
Don’t get me
started on Prince Charming – Mr Party Party - he’s a fucking drunk. Currently he’s passed out in the royal
latrine, a urine stain on his trousers.
Charming, he ain’t, unless you count throwing up on the buffet as a
social grace. It certainly delivered us
from yet more brown, non nutritious, deep fried food. I was a bit sorry to see the spring rolls
disappear under a sea of puke though.
God, I was
happier being a skivvy to my ugly sisters.
Aren’t they the lucky ones?
No-one’s going to marry them into a life of vacuous pointlessness. Maybe, just maybe, if I speak nicely to my
wicked stepmother, she’ll take me back.
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