What if Rapunzel Ran out of Toilet Paper

What if Rapunzel Ran out of Toilet Paper

Once upon a time there was a young woman trapped in a tower by the witch she thought was her mother. The tower had no door and the only way the witch went in or out was by calling for the young woman to throw down her long, luxurious hair.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”

And the young woman would throw down her well-conditioned locks which went from the high window nearly to the ground below so her witch-mother could climb up. Everything Rapunzel had came from her mother who never let her go out into the world on her own. All of her food, soap, toothpaste, clothes, and gallons of shampoo only arrived when her mother came to see her each week.

Then, one day Rapunzel realized that she used her final roll of toilet paper. As she desperately searched the tower, Rapunzel realized that it would be three days before her mother would come with more supplies. Her stomach churned from her heavy dinner from that night-

…You know what. Never mind. This is hitting too close to home. Send T.P.

If Sleeping Beauty was Social Isolating

If Sleeping Beauty was Social Isolating

Once upon a time in a far away kingdom, a princess was under a terrible sleeping curse, granted at her birth by an angry fairy. The princess knew nothing of this, only that her parents, the king and queen, were extremely over protective of her. She could not sneeze from a bit of dust without the court physician being called for.

Then, a bought of plague reached their kingdom due to lax trade laws and lack of general hygiene. To keep the beloved princess from catching the disease, she stayed in the castle and everyone agreed to stay at least six feet away from her.

On her sixteenth birthday, knowing she couldn’t have a party, all of the princess’s friend and subjects sent her gifts. She opened each present from a safe distance from even her own parents, who oohed and awwed at each new gown and shawl.

One of the largest gifts in the pile had shiny green and purple wrapping. Everyone thought it was from someone else and were debating such as she opened it. No one noticed as she pulled back the wrapping to see something new to her - a spinning wheel - the exact object which would seal her sleeping curse. By the time the court looked upon it, they were too late to run the six feet across the room and smack the spindle out of the young girl’s hand.

The princess pricked her finger and fell into a hundred year sleep. A good fairy, figuring that this was an option for quarantining the plague any way, put the entire kingdom to sleep.

A century passed behind a wall of thrones before a prince stumbled upon the kingdom. The brambles parted fro him and his heart led the way directly to the sleeping princess. Never in his life had he seen anyone more beautiful. He leaned down over her perfect face and still eyes. His lips pressed into hers. Then, he felt a hand wack him on the back of the head.

He stumbled backwards, his stunned expression attempting to size up the now completely awake princess.

“What is wrong with you?” she yelled. “Don’t you know there’s a plague? I’m social distance, you dick! Why do you just kiss people? Don’t you have any manners?”

Luckily, it had turned out that in the last one hundred years, a cure for that particular strain of plague had been discovered. With the kingdom restored and the people once again relatively healthy, the princess spent time teaching the prince about boundaries. The end.

If Cinderella had been 30

If Cinderella had been 30

Once upon a time there was a grand house where an old woman, her two grown daughters, and her grown step-daughter lived. Since she had been a teenager, the step-daughter had been treated at the servant of the house, made to dress in the ragged, cast-off clothes of her sisters and sleep near the kitchen hearth. Because of her dirty appearance, they called her Cinderella.

Each day, Cinderella toiled endlessly as the only person to keep her demanding family fed and content, knowing that if she were to leave she would have no other opportunities to work. After all, she was 30. A spinster. An old maid. Who would possibly hire her?

One summer day, a messenger arrived at the house declaring there was to be a ball at the royal palace. Cinderella helped her awful step-family prepare as they gloated over their good fortune at having been invited. As they rode away in their rented carriage, she despaired. One night out sounded so nice.

As she went back to scrubbing the floors, a mysterious figure appeared before her. The elderly lady stooped over a cane and smiled down upon Cinderella.

“I suppose you’re wondering where I have been all of this time?” she asked with a kind smile.

Within her mind, Cinderella scoffed, “Actually, I was wondering if you wiped your feet before walking on my clear floor.” Out loud, she demurely asked, "Who are you?”
”Your fairy godmother, of course! I have been waiting for an opportunity like this to be of help you to you!”

“You know of a different place of employment that offers free room and board, but where I won’t be psychologically abused?” Cinderella asked hopefully.

“No silly, I am going to send you to the ball!”

“Oh. That’s good too., but I wouldn’t mind a more permanent solution to my current living situa-”

“Follow me out the the garden!” the fairy godmother interrupted and Cinderella obeyed.

Within twenty minutes, the magic of the strange old lady turned a pumpkin into a carriage, mice into horses, lizards into footmen, a rat into a driver, and Cinderella’s dress into a gorgeous gown draped over delicate glass slippers.

As Cinderella realized how long it had been since she’d worn heels, the fairy godmother chastised her about curfew. “You must leave before midnight or everything will turn back to what it was before. I know it’s a lousy thing to ask, but it must be midnight.”

“Midnight. I won’t forget.” She thanked the strange old lady, climbed into the carriage, and prepared to have her first night out since she was sixteen.

When she arrived, Cinderella was instantly the belle of the ball. The prince, a man who had waited till he was older to marry (which was fairly common in that time period - look it up) was instantly taken with her. This was not only due to her beauty, but her conversation. Truthfully, many of the younger women at the ball had caught his eye, but hours of trying to speak with twenty-one year olds had left him bored. He craved speaking with someone from his own generation.

They danced and talked and Cinderella paid close attention to the clock hung strategically over the ballroom. By nine pm the prince offered her a drink and they both sat down.

He told her of the five diplomatic meetings in a row he’d conducted directly before the ball. She told him of her gardening that had to be finished that day or the carrots and onions would have spoiled. Neither wanted to admit that their feet were killing them.

By 9:30, the elderly king who had been observing all from his comfortable throne went in search of his son. He was curious about the lovely young woman monopolizing the prince’s evening. He found them both on a bench in the palace gardens, fast asleep. The king ordered a blanket to be placed over them.

Midnight struck and the pair of tired adults dozed on the bench, Cinderella’s head resting on the prince’s shoulder. All of her changed back, the only item remaining in its magical state being her glass shoes.

The sun rose and at last the pair awoke. At first, Cinderella panicked, ready to run from the prince with the blanket hiding her grimy dress. However, the prince was a covers hog and managed to pull the blanket with him as he stood to stretch.

“That was a surprisingly good night’s sleep.” He glanced down at her as she awaited the verbal berating. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Weren’t you wearing- Nevermind. I must’ve been more tire then I thought. Breakfast?”

And so, the prince helped Cinderella up from the bench. She limped slightly as they walked towards the palace doors and her noticed the glass slippers still chiming along the pavement.

He sat her back down and, without any further explanation, ran into the castle without her.

Cinderella owned up her look, deciding it was too late to fuss with the rag on her head or the apron on her waist. She thought maybe the prince was going to get the head cook and maybe offer in a job in the kitchen. Although, it would be hard to see the prince and not be able to speak on equal terms ever again.

When the prince came back, both hands were behind his back. He knelt down before her and asked her to remove her shoes. She did so and he slipped a pair of fuzzy bedroom slippers on her dainty feet. They were like walking on pillows.

“That better?”

She nodded.

And so they ate breakfast and talked. Somehow, breakfast led to marriage and happily ever after where no one ever made them stay up past ten on a long day ever again. That is until their first kid was born. But that’s a different exhausting story.

The End.

If Snow White had been Under Quarentine

If Snow White Had been Under Quarentine

Once upon a time, an evil queen’s vanity made her so jealous of her little step-daughter that she ordered the child’s death. The child was beautiful, with hair black as ebony, lips red as blood, and skin white as snow. Luckily, the little girl was spared by the huntsman. She came across a little cottage in the woods where there were seven little chairs, seven little beds, and a place to hang seven pick-axes hung on the wall.

Snow White, as the child was called, allowed herself inside. She cleaned up the clearly bachelor owned abode and fell asleep in one of the beds.

Seven little men came home that night with news of a disease that had spread from the village. They felt confident and smug as their work kept them from coming in contact with such illnesses. Then, they discovered their clean house and the girl drooling upon one of their pillows. Her lips were bright crimson and her skin was pale as death. Clearly, she was ill and had brought the disease upon them.

The seven dwarfs tripped over one another in a panic to be out of the house. They locked the door behind them and boarded up the windows and doors.

Snow White awoke as they continued to lock her in. She protested through the slats, insisting she wasn’t sick.

“That’s what sick people always say,” one of the oldest of the men declared. “Now you just stay in there under quarantine until the doctor says you can come out.”

“How long will that take?” she cried.

“The closest doctor is a three day ride from here on horseback,” a different man explained.

“Oh. Six days is not so bad. My step-mother locked in my my room for a week once.”

“Yes. But you see we don’t have a horse,” a third man said.

“But don’t worry. There is plenty of food in there for you to eat, little girl,” a fourth dwarf explained.

“We are sorry about this, but aren’t you glad we’re letting you stay in our house. Don’t think we didn’t consider burning it down,” a different dwarf stated.

The sixth dwarf grunted, “Just try not to breathe on anything until we get back.”

At which a seventh dwarf chimed in, “Unless you can do more cleaning and organizing. I mean, it would be the least you could do since we are going to get the doctor for you.”

And so they left her. Snow White started her isolated days easily. She patched up worn-out dwarf clothes and reorganized their sock drawers. When the days were particularly long, she cleaned. When the days felt shorter, she played games with the mice living in the walls.

Then the days started to blend together. Soon, she was speaking to the mice, planning out adventures with them. As this was the time before the internet, her child mind started to come up with her own answers to questions she had about the world. Her conversations with herself went like this:

“Why is a mouse’s tail not as furry as the rest of him?”

“Because, Snow White, is a bitch. That’s why.”

“Oh! Duh. Silly me.”
As the dwarfs had no books, she started using coal to draw and write stories on her walls. These were not as much fun after the mice criticized her tale of a her step-mother choking on a whole onion.

“What do you mean she wouldn’t eat a whole onion? Don’t question my art, mice!” Either way, the onion was changed to an apple.

Snow White didn’t know how many days had gone by (only that trying to cut her own hair had been a bad idea) when the dwarfs finally returned with a man a plague doctor mask. He removed the mask after the boards over one window were removed and he got a good look at her.

“This child isn’t sick. She just needs more sunlight. You seven do you know at the other symptom besides bleeding lips and pale skin is foaming from the mouth right? You’re lucky I don’t report you for child abuse, but as we don’t have laws for that, I guess there’s nothing I can do.”

The dwarfs released Snow White, she punched each of them in their seven faces, and she went back to town with the doctor. Snow White then used the plague mask and a gloves to take a comb, ribbons, and an apple from the home of a diseased family She sent them to her step-mother, waiting for the vain woman to be quarantined, and used the opportunity to take back her kingdom.

The end

Mystery of Historical Monsters

For those of you that know me well, you know I possess an unhealthy amount of knowledge of fairy tales in general. This fairy tale trivia led me to have an equally unhealthy knowledge of Marshal of France Gilles de Rais.

If you have pushed the 1999 Joan of Arc movie from you mind, allow me to refresh your memory. Jeanne, the French farm girl who led armies against the English during the Hundred Years War and got a warm stake for her troubles, had a commander who served with her. When the war ended, de Rais went home where he squandered his fortune on a play he wrote, defied the church by building a chapel that did not fully conform to the 1430s religious norms, and started to practice occult rituals. Oh! And he was tried then executed for the brutal abuse and murder of approximately 150 young boys. Did I almost forget to mention that part?

Gilles de Rais became the bogeyman of the French medieval world. He was hanged and burned for what is the most evil of human atrocities, and thus became the cautious tale parents told their children. Over the next two centuries, the story of a child killing lord morphed into that of a wife killing lord called Bluebeard who kept the bodies of his victims on his property as de Rais supposedly did. That's right! That’s the plot of a fairy tale, for those of you who didn’t know. But you will probably hear me talk more about Bluebeard later.

The mystery I present today is not about the fairy tale or the crimes themselves – it is about how society wants to hold onto the morbid belief in such heinous monsters. Over the last several centuries, it has been suggested that de Rais was framed for his crimes, that he himself was the victim. The same has been suggested of Countess Bathory, the woman walled up in her own castle for the torture and murder of young women because of a belief that bathing in their blood would keep her young. Several historians have wondered if the crimes against Bathory were really a way to knock a woman from her position of power. Remember, the Middle Ages were not huge fans of women in general. Unless you count that woman who was the first to create a foaming, full headed beer. I bet they loved her.

The idea of de Rais’s innocence is that he was targeted by the church and those who wanted his wealth or remaining lands. It didn’t help that Joan herself was burned for heresy or that two of the judges at his trial were men who could legally inherit his property. Every few years, another article or book comes out wondering if de Rais was a legit serial killer or another target in a church “witch hunt”. And every few years, people familiar with the story scoff.

I am not saying which way I side with. I am just wondering why people hold on so tightly to the monsters. Some just want to believe that de Rais and Bathory did these terrible things and don’t want to hear the other side. They want Bluebeard to still be Bluebeard. And why? Why is there insistence that the Hills Have Eyes really is based on a true story and not English anti-Scottish propaganda?  Why are there some who seem disappointed when told the truth of Ed Gein, when what was wanted was a mix of Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Silence of the Lambs? Are we that morbid that we need the monsters to be the most monstrous they can be? Is it just the need for bogeymen and a good scare? Or maybe you just said to yourself, “Gross. I do not feel that way.” Fair enough, but I bet you know someone who does. Even the content of most crime dramas and Lifetime movies would suggest a need for morbid curiosity.

It could just be that everyone needs a good scare once in a while and all of these historical figures are more the stuff of legend than reality. It feels safe to villainize those who were tried and found guilty and safer still when they died hundreds of years ago. Or I could just be way off base here and sufficiently creeped some of you out.

I would tell you to go watch a Disney movie to make yourself feel better. But don’t get me started on the morbid background of those!