The Importance of Shoes

Breaking News: Former servant now a servant of the people. Sort of. Kinda. 

Okay, maybe we should all hear the rest of the story…

Cindy was a good girl. Only child of a widowed father, she spent her days helping around their too-large-for-just-the-two-of-them chateau.

Her father, assuming (erroneously, methinks) that she was in need of female company, (ie. mother, sisters, etc.) decided to find exactly that. Or those.

Whilst away, (notice my medieval language. Ahem…) her father happened upon a lovely woman, mother of two daughters, in sorry need of a husband.

Assuming again that these three women were precisely what his sweet daughter needed, he immediately married the mother and carted the whole brood home.

I just want to say that, when MY dad returned from a trip, he never—not once—brought me a new mother or sisters.

I suspect my own mother/sisters would have been a tad vocal about the arrangement. Hmmm. Forget I suggested it. Back to my story…

Anyways, things went along quite swimmingly until Cindy’s beloved father keeled over one morning whilst dining. Or reclining. Pining? Maligning? My notes are fuzzy.

Following the poor man’s death, cracks appeared in the heretofore solid foundations of Cindy’s world. Womanmade cracks. From the aforementioned and up-to-now, sunny, Stepmother.

Apparently, some women and some girls shouldn’t exist in the same hemisphere. Actually some women and anyone else, regardless of sex, creed or religion.

Stepmother, in a rather fruitless attempt to help her two (sadly plain) daughters eclipse Cindy in the looks department, dressed her stepdaughter in rags.

Then forcibly compelled her to take over the servants’ duties in the vast mansion. After firing the servants. Because of an ongoing struggle with budgeting.

Now Cindy, she of the eternally effervescent attitude, took all this in stride and continued to shine. Even whilst mucking about doing servant…stuff.

All the while, the three girls continued to grow. And mature. Approaching the day when their gifts—or lack thereof—would become painfully obvious.

Meanwhile, over at the palace, the prince was also growing. And had just graduated from the UofSofRP (University of Sons of Rich Parents).

The one over on Prosperity Avenue. Just past ImposingBankBalance Road and FiltyRich Street. No, I’ve never been there, but I’ve read about it.

Anyways, now he was home, clutching his brand-new Useful for Everything Degree and grinning broadly and truly excited about some serious sleeping-in time.

His father, the King, had other ideas, and had already organized a grand ball to introduce his son to the kingdom’s ‘all and sundry’.

'Sigh. Okay, yes, father, I will put in the effort to have someone else groom and dress and polish me to a finished shine.

And stand in a line to smile at girls. And be nice to girls. And dance with girls. All whilst their mothers are watching.'

Now the word—and the invitations—had gone out to the entire kingdom. Every unmarried girl was to attend. Emphasis on EVERY. Cindy included.

Let’s just say Stepmother wasn’t having any of it. Remember? Plain daughters. Gorgeous step-daughter. I’m quite sure you can guess what happened next…

Yep. Chores. More chores. And chores to do before other chores could be done. And when those were finally done? Dusting—the endless chore.

(My own sainted mother was quite good at this. She could cross one chore off a list and deftly add three to the bottom.)

Needless to say, Cindy simply ran out of time. Oh, she tried. Dressing hastily in an old gown of her mother’s which her stepsisters consequently shredded.

Sigh. Forlornly, she watched as the carriage took the three, Stepmother and daughters, off to future incredible glory. And/or dancing and five-star dining.

But as she sat sobbing in the garden in her formerly-outdated-but-pristine-now-ragged dress, A Personage appeared. Her Fairy Godmother.

May I cry foul? I just want to mention that MY Fairly Godmother has never appeared. Even when I had simply ‘nothing to wear’.

Cindy’s FGM fixed things up with a wave of her wand. (Harrumph. See above.) And Cindy was suddenly wearing the finest. Complete with glass slippers.

And a pumpkin became a coach. Mice, horses. A dog, the coachman. All in all, a fairly productive wave of said wand. You agree?

Just like that, mice, dog, Cindy and pumpkin were off to the ball. The cost of the evening’s finery? A fairly middle-ground curfew of midnight.

And did that girl party? I should say! Almost immediately, she attracted the eyes—and rapt attention—of the aforementioned, degree-toting prince.

They spent the evening talking and laughing and eating and dancing. I know you’re probably wondering why the Stepmother/sisters didn’t recognize her.

I will just say this. Out of context/impeccably dressed. I mean, how many people failed to recognize Superman behind Clark Kent’s glasses? Hmmm?

Lost in dreamland, when the midnight hour began to toll, Cindy gasped and hastily leaped up—dropping one shoe—and began the trek home.

She didn’t make it. Well, not as the fairy princess in a coach. More as a wretched rag-wearing, one-shoed and rather forlorn former princess.

A word about those slippers. Glass? Really? Either this girl weighed nothing, was incredibly light on her feet, or glass is different in fairy tales.

Now the Prince, totally enamoured with ‘The Girl’ was beating about the whole kingdom in search of her. And Stepmother discovered her secret.

Yikes. Desperate to prevent what seemed to be happening from…happening, she locked Cindy in her room and prepared her daughters to greet the Prince.

All was going well, despite the fact that her own daughters’ feet couldn’t possibly fit into the uber-tiny shoe the Prince was toting around.

Cindy managed to escape her room just as the Prince was leaving, but, in a final effort to thwart true love, Stepmother broke the Prince’s shoe.

Which would have been a complete and total disaster for all if Cindy didn’t still (conveniently) have her own shoe. That girl plans ahead…

Needless to say, the Prince and Cindy were engaged that very day and married almost immediately. Forgiving all, they lived happily ever after.

Something I’m sure that I, as Cindy, would have struggled with but hey! I didn’t have to face that nasty Stepmother and sisters thereafter!

And that brings us to our notable takeaway. Girls. Shoes are important to your happiness. Sometimes vitally important. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Today’s post is a word challenge! Each month one of us chooses a number between 12 and 50 and the rest craft a post using that number of words one or multiple times.

This month’s word count number is 24. And was brought to you by: Mimi of Messymimi’s Meanderings!

Links to the other Word Counters posts:

Baking In ATornado

Messymimi’sMeanderings