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Still in bed, although awake but too tired from last week's hard digging, I forcefully look into the pot pushed into my face. Sand falls on my bedding and face. I don't like sand in bed any more than I like food in bed. Crumbs feel just like sand, dirty, hard and no I am not like the princess on the pea who slept badly because she had to lie on 40 bad, wobbly mattresses after climbing a high ladder. Just try it on in a long nightgown and wonder why men haven't slept in them for a long time (you get tangled up in them when you want to turn around or hang yourself). If that girl also had to go to the toilet during the night (again, up and down that ladder) or fell out of bed, I understand why she had a bad night apart from worrying that the occupants of the house are up to something with her. After a broken-down night, marrying an unattractive prince with attitude is the plan. What the girl thinks about that is irrelevant - after all, she knocked on the door of a palace without servants in the pouring rain.
"Is that a fossil?"
He grins and says, I'm going to keep it. What do you think, is this the lost frog prince?
I study the crushed thing spread out on a layer of earth.
"It looks more like the imprint of the Beast. Get that thing out of my face. Is there tea yet?"
Tea in the morning, drinking tea in peace is what I love. I need time to recover from the night. In that respect, I am no different from the princess on the pea. Just a normal girl prepared for her future as in the government slogan that encouraged girls not to play housewife and mother, to serve the man at his beck and call, but to get to work. The result? Women have been prepared and are now doing it all. Extra tasks, extra work and it is done with some time for yourself but also with a clean house, being social and time for each other. I feel like that girl in the pouring rain. Like a drowned cat, she stood at the door and said: I am a princess.
She set the trend, and at Walt Disney too, every girl is suddenly transformed into a princess. No more suffering. No loss of voice, walking on knives, being a pig-keeper, no lessons that need to be learned, you just need to be cheeky.
"A bold person rules the world," my grandmother used to say. No more keeping quiet, swallowing your words, tiptoeing. He who has no voice is not heard and certainly not feared. Manipulation can be learned and pays off, just like lying and stealing, just look at fairy tales and politics.
The beast was a beast with a reason. Just like that narcissistic prince who only wanted to marry a princess, the beast had to find someone who could love a narcissist. What a one-way street. So both men should get what is coming to them but what about the other side of the story? The little mermaid lost her voice and ended up dead. The prince did not fall for her but married the one he thought had saved him. No love. Love is clearly for suckers, losers and not winners. A piece of music in the background does not create drama and neither does falling in love. That only happens in the film. Imagine some music is playing...
He let the letter fall and walked over to the origin of the sound and there she was. Love at first sight (his sight).
In a fairy tale, she would play the harp or maybe the banjo, but today it is her ghetto booster that plays loudly in the neighbour's garden. She drinks beer and throws a few more hamburgers on the barbecue that someone else may flip over, after all, we are modern humans. Equal monks (gender-neutral, everyone equal, no discrimination, same duties and rights) then also equal hoods.
Instead of "stop it now" or "turn that music down because I can't concentrate on reading my letter", he stared at the radiant woman, a woman full of life. Not a boring guy like him who only drinks water and eats lettuce and carrots because everything that lives feels pain too and should never die.
He stared at the woman with the healthy skin colour, the blush on her face, and the shining eyes and decided to go outside. Just to have a look at the neighbours, suggest if it could be a bit less noisy and to ask if someone could remove that burnt hamburger because it stinks.
On the way, he thoughtlessly picked a blossom from the neighbour's bush. Flowers do not live, and the neighbours' bushes do not feel pain. A flower may appeal to her, the girl who danced to the music with a bottle of beer in her hand.
Without saying a word, he unexpectedly held the flower under her nose just as I was confronted with a sandy fossil at an unexpected moment. Long story short:
The flower opened and there was a little guy in it looking deep into her eyes. No, it is not one of the seven dwarfs, not a garden gnome resting from hard work, nor Thumbelina's brother, but an elf. There are wings on the back and elves are gender-neutral just like angels and Cupid (only in the bible female and left stand for bad and male and right for good so the devil is a woman just like woman/Frau Hollow and not a man with goat legs and horns and the man is good like all those narcissists, thieves and beggars in fairy tales and real life).
"Can I stay and live here," the elf asked, "I like this music," the little thing looked deep into the girl's eyes.
It's a little scary when you're standing there like the man holding the stolen rose. In those eyes, the elf sees itself big reflected and that is always good for a person with or without much self-esteem so it is for a narcissist and if it comes to that nothing has changed.
The brutal rule by manipulation and take off with the loot while the suckers clean up the mess and pay for the damage (burnt hamburgers, overturned barbecue, destroyed neighbour's bush, trespassing, fine music nuisance, attempted drunken violence, stalking neighbours and so on.