About my serious side

Not to break the spell or spoil the fun, but you've probably figured out my real name isn't Dummy.

The CTD Diaries is my playground. No one tells the truth in their diaries anyway so I figured I should find another place to get real, where the head lights aren't so bright. I originally thought this would be a good place to post my creative writing, but I think this is just a good place to tell the truth.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

The Real Cinderella Story

(Wow! I didn't even have kids yet. I guess I was a flaming feminist in my roaring twenties too.)

The Real Cinderella Story

The attitudes of this story do not necessarily reflect the opinion of the author, and all similarities to actual persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.

Once upon a time in a far away land a long long time ago, there lived a stingy old bachelor (S.O.B). In fact, everyone in the entire land was an S.O.B because women were not yet fabricated.

One sunny morning the S.O.B. made some porridge for breakfast before he began scrubbing his kitchen floor. He soon wearied and became bored to tears and, in great frustration, flung his scrubbing brush across the room.

“I’m sick to death of scrubbing all day long. All I ever do is pick up after myself while my mind wastes away,” he cried, shaking his fist at the ceiling. “I want more to show for my life than dishpan hands.”

Suddenly a fairy godfather appeared. “Fear not,” he bellowed, “I’m working on a plan!”
“Whatever do you mean?” asked the S.O.B., quite taken aback.

“Alas, I’m drawing up the blueprints for what I call a woman.”
“What on earth is a woman?”

“Only the latest in modern convenience--something to take care of all your daily drudgery, freeing you up to think.” The fairy godfather smirked as the S.O.B rubbed his chin and bobbed his head.

“Fascinating,” he replied, “but will this woman-thing be . . . human?”

“Why yes, she’ll be as much alive as you and the rest of the S.O.B.’s”

“But if she doesn’t like doing my daily drudgery? What is she wants to think instead of make my porridge?”

“Oh dear . . .” The two fell silent while the fairy godfather paced back and forth across the nook. “I’ve got it!” he boomed at length, “We shan’t give her a brain!”

“What? No brain? But how will this woman know when to serve me? How will she know when to fetch my meals or hang my laundry?”

“Agreed. She would be quite useless without a brain.”

“I’ve got an idea!” cried the S.O.B. “let her think she can think.”


“We’ll tell her she can think as soon as she finishes going to the market and feeding all the animals and darning my socks and. . . “ his voice escalated, “scrubbing this blasted concrete floor!”

“But what if she does finish her tasks and demands to think with the rest of the S.O.B.’s?”

“Well, then, we’ll just have to give her more tasks. By the time she finishes them all, she’ll be so tired she won’t even care about thinking.”

“Brilliant!” said the S.O.B. now pacing rapidly as his mind began to churn. “I feel alive!” he cried.

“There are so many new things to think about. And so much time to think them in.” Then suddenly he stopped as if struck. “Do you think I will ever get tired of thinking?”

The fairy godfather shook his head. “Pshaw. But in the unlikely event that you ever do get tired of thinking, the woman can entertain you.”

“I like that idea,” said the S.O.B. “Make her very pleasing to look at so if I ever get bored I can look at her.”

“And if you get really bored . . . you can touch her.”

“Touch her?”

“Purely for your own entertainment of course.”

“Good golly, fairy godfather, I think you’re on to something.”

The fairy godfather smiled smugly.

“But if I’m looking and touching when will I have time to think and when will she have time to serve me?”

“Well, why don’t we make some women pleasing for looking and touching, and make the rest plain and sturdy for serving.”

The S.O.B. was now rubbing his hands together and looking gleefully about, when suddenly his face twisted up in puzzlement. “Wait!” he started. “What if the plain ones finish cooking and cleaning and darning and feeding and serving and then demand to join the men in conversation?"

“Easy, we’ll tell them they can join the men in conversation just as soon as they make themselves as pleasing to look at and touch as the ones we look at and touch.”

“Eureka!” shouted the S.O.B.

The fairy godfather, drained from thinking so hard, began to yawn. “I could sure use a large glass of ale,” he smiled wickedly.

“Let me get that for you,” said the S.O.B. And then he stopped . . . and smiled. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Let’s do it!” The fairy godfather scanned the room and peered out the window at the garden and the pastures full of grazing cows. “Perfect,” he said. “Bring those cows hither.”

The S.O.B. quickly obeyed and the fairy godfather as waved some pixie dust around the cow, ranting and raving something about bibbity bobbity and then BOO!”

“What do you think?” asked the fairy godfather as soon as the dust settled around the two dazed figures, blinking and staring.

The S.O.B. nodded approvingly. “I like what you’ve done to the udders,” he said.

As soon as the two new women were put to work, the fairy godfather and the S.O.B. began scouring the kingdom for farm animals. After countless experiments they discovered that horses made the most pleasing women when they were bored, but got rather haughty and spoiled when asked to fetch things, and eventually turned into nags.

Vegetables! Now that’s what good women were made of—straight from the earth and particularly cooperative. The perfect prototype for an ordinary woman.

Consequently, all the S.O.B.s in the land became gardeners and lived happily ever after.

The End.


Emily Anne Leyland said...

You are very clever Debbie. I love reading everything you have written. This is so funny!

Lisa (Funny Farmer) said...

Oh my. And here I was all happy with my life. How blind I've been!