Your friendly neighborhood feminists—in a book I refuse to name—want to blame fairytales such as Cinderella for creating unrealistic expectations in American women. Why all the rancor, feminists, over not having a penis? Some of my favorite women don’t have a penis.
Feminist sensibilities have brought us heroines such as Samantha on Sex and the City: materialistic, self-obsessed, defined by work and, oh yes, someone who abandons a man to find a more experienced male model.
The argument goes something like this: Women are seeking out divorce in record numbers because there isn’t enough husband material with Fabio hair, a noble steed, and a return address that simply says THE CASTLE.
Stories are the best way to teach. Even the transvestite hookers on Sex and the City understand that.
I’ll take Sleeping Beauty any day. At the end of her story she knows that our behavior has good and bad consequences that affect the people around us.
Like when I was eight and my best friend was a girl. We were destined to kiss one day; that much was obvious.
It happened when we were ten, playing in the fort/makeout palace in my backyard. She was wearing brand-new braces—they were the awkward, goofy ones, not the kind that a cheerleader makes into a sexy accessory. They made her feel self-conscious and homely and, frankly, I agreed with her. But the best romantic stories don’t only happen to beautiful women. They also happen to plain, pigtailed, freckled girls who make their living as tomboys.
I sucked it up in that moment, looking beyond her appearance, knowing it would be over quickly and she would be grateful the way a long-suffering husband is to his wife on alternate Tuesdays. When I kissed her, my tongue gently rolled over the metal that covered her teeth in one grand, awkward gesture.
I pictured it as a fairytale. Beauty and the Beast taught me that I—the miscast Beauty—could have pity on my tinsel-mouthed Beast. And so I did.
And there were more lessons from more stories. The Boy Who Cried Wolf has a timeless, universal message about the unintended consequences of lying. That is valuable to men and women. Did the author need to have a subplot about unionized female ninjas who are powerful in their own right?
Cinderella, the broad who started this whole mess, taught us that hard work, turning the other cheek, and faith are virtues worth celebrating.
Harking back to the aging wicked witch that is Samantha, feminists have given us a world with the HEROINE AS PROACTIVE WHORE. Instead of waiting patiently for Prince Charming, this feminist Frankenstein climbs out the window while her parents sleep. She fornicates with unworthy, sunken-chested poseurs who lube her up with designer drugs and cheap beer. She inevitably ends up pregnant and the “father” splits town.
The baby is born addicted to drugs. The welfare money buys steak the first five days of the month, then ice cream and Cheetos. The kid commits petty crimes and ultimately gets into college on a scholarship because the dad he never met is one-eighth illegal alien.
He drops out after a semester, but at least he was able to buy a new car with the money the state gave him for school. The local party girl thinks he’s going places—he has a car! She spreads her legs and the cycle repeats itself.
And all because the girl never read fairytales.
The Little Mermaid taught us we need to sacrifice for the one we love. The problem here isn’t the fairytale’s message. No, the trick is in teaching our daughters how to recognize good men from bad ones.
Thankfully we have Little Red Riding Hood, who shows us that sometimes the sweetest tongue is also the sharpest.
By the way—that schlub you’re about to divorce could be the real Prince Charming. Just so happens he’s prematurely bald, allergic to horses, and castles are out of his price range.
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