Rumour has it that James Wood literary critic du jour of The New Yorker Magazine says ... "Wronski at his 'Wrambling' best!"
On an average every day basis, she came off like you would say, she ain't "all that". As plain as a mud fence pretty much sums it up. Whatever prettiness was even there at all was scrubbed clean off with all the drudgery she had been put to. Her hair was naturally straight, which didn’t add anything to the facial picture. Somewhat a scarecrow cut by the standards of the time. How that little mess on top of her keppe came to be, that’s for later. Just saying, our girl had a couple of what you call “evil” sisters. But, not to worry, this "Cinderella" knew how to make lemonade from Lemons. You'll see.
She slept on hay in the barn with the animals. Oh, the sisters slept on hay too; but stuffed into burlap, then again covered with sturdy muslin, and again covered with high count cotton. Pretty swell by the standards of farm folk working their allotted parcel rented to them by the Kingdom, collected as a good portion of their crop and livestock productions. One wonders, how many turnips does one King need anyway? Or, even a whole Kingdom. Huh?
And, speaking of Kingdom ...
It was a time when it seemed everything was white alabaster or marble, gold and silver, ornate gilded plastery, draperies woven with scenes of ultra luxe fanciful courtly lives; crystal chandeliers lit with colorful and fragrant beeswax candles. Ladies outfitted in period correct finery, costume changes appropriate of course for virtually every distinct hour of the day. With all the changes of wardrobe you can imagine the demands on the ladies who waited on M’Lady. And the demands of such a job for precision and jig timing. You want your Lady to be on time to the party, to do the jig. And, to be sure, looking like someone that stone good looking Prince might want to get jiggy with her jiggly.
It’s hard to pin down the historical time period we’re in with this story. The elites were at the zenith of their hoity toitiness and splendor; somewhere we can imagine mid-15th to 18th centuries. At the beginning of the so-called Renaissance they had just about had it living in close quarters with the hoi polloi. Not that it wasn’t fun. Picture a Tom Jones style bash. Bruegal’s Wedding Dance also comes to mind. The wheel of history mores, of course. Those Dark Ages coarse ways took a sharp turn and then came all the fancy schmancy. That which is when this story is handed down with its peep into the high times back then.
The gents. In those days it was either black or a dark grey. Blue, only if it's a dark, dark blue. Any of the natural colors and lighter tints were for as the occasion dictated. Like don’t wear brown to a palace ball. And you don’t go on the Hunt with pajamas. That latter which were in the upper circles of the finest silk and designs which would make Hugh Hefner look like a hobo hermit. Net, net ... some duds.
Speaking of “Balls”. [Were we?] Wasn’t it some balls for Travis Kelce to go face to face with the coach on national live television. And now we're reading in the gossips how he and that Taylor Girl are gonna paint the town red — what color but that would you choose for the "Big Apple" — for the festivities in and around their historic modern day fairy tale nuptials. But, back in the day of our featured Princess//ingรฉnue-in-the-rough, going to The Ball — at the palace, silly, where else do you think a ball should be. Or, even could be. Huh? Back then, with all the aforementioned excess of ladylike fuss, it's a hard act to follow. Especially for that gutter snipe of an Eliza Doolittlesque Cinderella. Looks wise, anyway. As far as erudition, Grrl done her homework. On the sly, mind you. Those evil Sisters were all about making sure Cindy knew her place, and stayed. Like how they would play what we in our day would call the game "Idea Man". "Hey Cinderella. There's a pile of poop over there! I have an idea! Why don't YOU go and clean it up?" To make matters even worse, those two evil Sisters were given to slinging shovels of literal shit through the window in the barn whilst our beleaguered heroine girl was in dreamland. And, don't you know Mama expected that shit to be gone come the cockadoodledo.
The gents. In those days it was either black or a dark grey. Blue, only if it's a dark, dark blue. Any of the natural colors and lighter tints were for as the occasion dictated. Like don’t wear brown to a palace ball. And you don’t go on the Hunt with pajamas. That latter which were in the upper circles of the finest silk and designs which would make Hugh Hefner look like a hobo hermit. Net, net ... some duds.
Speaking of “Balls”. [Were we?] Wasn’t it some balls for Travis Kelce to go face to face with the coach on national live television. And now we're reading in the gossips how he and that Taylor Girl are gonna paint the town red — what color but that would you choose for the "Big Apple" — for the festivities in and around their historic modern day fairy tale nuptials. But, back in the day of our featured Princess//ingรฉnue-in-the-rough, going to The Ball — at the palace, silly, where else do you think a ball should be. Or, even could be. Huh? Back then, with all the aforementioned excess of ladylike fuss, it's a hard act to follow. Especially for that gutter snipe of an Eliza Doolittlesque Cinderella. Looks wise, anyway. As far as erudition, Grrl done her homework. On the sly, mind you. Those evil Sisters were all about making sure Cindy knew her place, and stayed. Like how they would play what we in our day would call the game "Idea Man". "Hey Cinderella. There's a pile of poop over there! I have an idea! Why don't YOU go and clean it up?" To make matters even worse, those two evil Sisters were given to slinging shovels of literal shit through the window in the barn whilst our beleaguered heroine girl was in dreamland. And, don't you know Mama expected that shit to be gone come the cockadoodledo.
What do you call an artistic Rooster?
Look here! Don't go all critical and complaining about how this is going. It's my story. If you're not savvy enough to dig it — like in "scoop my shit" — then go play with the surprise toy in your MacDonald's happy meal. You have to be square to be cool; or, haven't you heard?
Like was said, it was a time of alabaster, marble, fancy gilding, big mirrors, high ceilings, and who could not be amazed at those crystal chandeliers. Makes Swarovski look like something you'd find in those bin-trays of plastic jewels at the Five and Dime. Fancy. Fucking fancy!
Like in the original telling, our Prince of the evening was without out a shadow of a doubt the most handsome sonuvabich on the known planet. Ever? Words don’t even come close. Seeing is believing. We'll leave the details to your imagination. Just let's say, he's a "catch".
Of course he had to show up dressed in the most beautiful sky blue uniform with white accents and trim, a full chest of colorful medals, a ceremonial sword which would later be removed after the opening ceremonies for the socializing period of the event. And, you bet your booties there was dancing. Live band. In those days they knew how to rock it on a harpsichord, with plenty of various types and sized of circle drums. There were strings and pipes too. The music itself was even for those times a real mixed bag. There were the melodic and sometimes rousing standards of course, for couples' dances, and for groups. Their idea of jazz was for different: musicians each playing his own selected tune. Talk about jazz! There was also a type of Karaoke [hip-hop?], but with the player acting out a story to music with many times including some dancing too.
Like in the original telling, our Prince of the evening was without out a shadow of a doubt the most handsome sonuvabich on the known planet. Ever? Words don’t even come close. Seeing is believing. We'll leave the details to your imagination. Just let's say, he's a "catch".
Of course he had to show up dressed in the most beautiful sky blue uniform with white accents and trim, a full chest of colorful medals, a ceremonial sword which would later be removed after the opening ceremonies for the socializing period of the event. And, you bet your booties there was dancing. Live band. In those days they knew how to rock it on a harpsichord, with plenty of various types and sized of circle drums. There were strings and pipes too. The music itself was even for those times a real mixed bag. There were the melodic and sometimes rousing standards of course, for couples' dances, and for groups. Their idea of jazz was for different: musicians each playing his own selected tune. Talk about jazz! There was also a type of Karaoke [hip-hop?], but with the player acting out a story to music with many times including some dancing too.
Party!
So you’re probably wondering by now since you already know the bones of how this story goes, you be asking how we get our girl to the ball ... The Ball.
At this very moment of writing this I have no idea how that’s gonna go. I’m having my own ball writing this.
How about she shows up in full on Goth? That would really stop them cold. Whether or not it would heat up the Prince, we haven’t gotten to that yet. Never mind the prancy uniform, our Prince was one [Prince]. 100%. He put the "balls" in The Balls. And, this was The Ball, so you can be sure his pants were especially extra tight. You get the drift. And, for sure, looking like that you could certainly get his "drift".
As Goth Girls go, she was the shizz. She had a good body. Not too short, not too tall. Not too skinny, and not too fat. Goldilocks! No! Cinderella! Okay, already.
So you’re probably wondering by now since you already know the bones of how this story goes, you be asking how we get our girl to the ball ... The Ball.
At this very moment of writing this I have no idea how that’s gonna go. I’m having my own ball writing this.
How about she shows up in full on Goth? That would really stop them cold. Whether or not it would heat up the Prince, we haven’t gotten to that yet. Never mind the prancy uniform, our Prince was one [Prince]. 100%. He put the "balls" in The Balls. And, this was The Ball, so you can be sure his pants were especially extra tight. You get the drift. And, for sure, looking like that you could certainly get his "drift".
As Goth Girls go, she was the shizz. She had a good body. Not too short, not too tall. Not too skinny, and not too fat. Goldilocks! No! Cinderella! Okay, already.
Goth ain’t Goth if it ain’t black. Kapische? That assertion there comes right out of the Goth handbook. Yes, there is one. Her straight hair with that loose haystack styling was just her everyday. Black, naturally. Lovely sheen though; it testified to her health and strength. Like I said, lemonade from Lemons.
Clothes get up-wise. That’s really a whole other story. How she got her get up, that is. Turns out our lowly Lass was born gifted with skilled hands. And, a smart head. She made her outfit herself. All hand sewn. With a flair for styling that was what probably turned his head when she showed up like Lady Gaga in a Pumpkin-like coach. I know. Hey! She supposed to get home at the midnight hour sharp or it is said to have turned into a Pumpkin. But, this is my story. Loosen up your brain some. Okay?
Clothes get up-wise. That’s really a whole other story. How she got her get up, that is. Turns out our lowly Lass was born gifted with skilled hands. And, a smart head. She made her outfit herself. All hand sewn. With a flair for styling that was what probably turned his head when she showed up like Lady Gaga in a Pumpkin-like coach. I know. Hey! She supposed to get home at the midnight hour sharp or it is said to have turned into a Pumpkin. But, this is my story. Loosen up your brain some. Okay?
This is getting a little hairy-dog, so I'll fast forward some. She shows up, heads turn, the Prince's too, they dance, love blossoms, she leaves.
Now, of course, the Dรฉnouement.
Long story short ... He scours the land. He finds her. He whisks her away. They live happy ever after. The evil Sisters brood; but quickly fall back to character and begin picking on that other Sister. Rapunzel.
It's a whole other story. Same structure, but with juicy other specifics and details and minutia. Like putting nasty stuff in her shampoo. Teasing her tresses whilst she sweetly dreams, only to have to spend the good part of the next morning brushing out that mischief. Scissors for some reason hard to fathom were off limits with Rapunzel's tresses. On account no doubt there's an evil Witch in that storied brew, and you know how persnickety witches can be when it comes to hair and all kinds of other growing things. They say Vidal Sassoon's Ma was a real one. No wonder. That would explain it.
Like that.
Basta!
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