Cinderella and the Glass Ceiling

by Laura Lane

  Fast-forward one hundred years…

  The kingdom lay asleep under the Good Fairy’s reverse curse. Because of the Good Fairy’s blessing, instead of looking like a decrepit centenarian corpse, Briar Rose looked flawless.

  A young prince from a neighboring kingdom, who was the captain of his varsity jousting team (a fact he found a way to work into every conversation) heard rumors of this sleeping beauty who could be woken by a kiss. And since locking down a sleeping princess sounded way easier than locking down an awake one, he decided to search for the castle. There began his quest. Road trip!

  When he found the hidden castle, he cut through the thorns that had overgrown the palace walls and slayed a dragon, which he couldn’t wait to brag about. (However, if he knew anything about dragons, he would have known this one was an extremely small dragon that couldn’t even breathe fire.)

  The Prince searched every room of the castle until he found the unconscious woman.

  “Never have I seen such a dime piece before me,” he announced to no one in particular.

  He kneeled down close to the Princess.

  “I have battled forest vines, an enormous dragon, and a blister on my foot to get to you, Sleeping Beauty. The evil spell shall end, with my kiss upon your super hot lips, which you probably don’t understand because curses are too complicated for women to grasp. A curse is a mean spell bad people do,” he mansplained. “Also, I brought you these flowers and a six pack.”

  He began to lean in for a kiss—but before his lips touched hers, a tiny urchin boy cleaning the dungeon floors popped his head in.

  “Excuse me, mister,” interrupted the boy, adjusting his newsboy cap. “What are you doing?”

  The Prince jumped back, startled.

  “I’m a prince here to break the spell. The better question is what are you doing? I thought everyone here was asleep.”

  “They are, except for me. It’s my job to get the dust off their spooky dead-but-not-dead bodies. This fairy hired me a couple years ago when the dust had gotten out of control.”

  “Ah, well, thank you for your hard work. Everyone looks dust-free!”

  “Thank you,” said the Urchin Boy earnestly.

  “Would you like to know my exciting news?” said the Prince. “I’ll tell you! There’s a way to end the curse and I am here to do it. In fact, only I can break the curse. With a kiss! Also, have I mentioned I’m the captain of my varsity jousting team?”

  He expected the Urchin Boy to be rather impressed that he was the one true savior of this kingdom. Instead the Urchin Boy cringed.

  “But she’s sleeping,” said the boy. “You’re trying to kiss someone who’s sleeping?”

  “Okay. After hearing that out loud I understand it might sound a little—”

  “—creepy!” interrupted the Urchin Boy. “Very creepy!”

  “Look, she pricked her finger, it was a whole thing,” said the Prince. “And if I don’t kiss her she’ll never wake up.”

  “Let me get this straight,” said the boy, setting his mop down and taking a seat between the Prince and Briar Rose. “You’re telling me you have to sexually assault a woman to break her from this curse? Because that did not come up in my job interview.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s not sexual assault if I’m trying to break a curse,” said the Prince, gesturing toward the unconscious Princess. “I think if she could talk she’d tell you that she’d want me to kiss her in this situation.”

  “But you don’t know that,” said the Urchin Boy. “Because she can’t say yes. BECAUSE SHE’S SLEEPING!”

  The Prince had come a pretty long way to break this curse and he wasn’t about to leave the Princess asleep because some little dude with a mop and a tweed vest was giving him attitude. Plus, she was super hot. Double plus, he hadn’t even cracked open his pack of Stud Light yet.

  The Prince tossed his cape to the ground.

  “It’s really hard to be me right now!” he whined. “And it’s not supposed to be hard, because I’m a prince.”

  “Look, mister prince guy, there’s really no way around this issue of consent so it’s best if you see yourself out.”

  “My man, why are you trying to lip-block me?”

  “I’m not a lip-blocker. I’m a good male ally.”

  “But I’m her true love,” said the Prince.

  “But she’s never met you,” pointed out the Urchin Boy. “So how are you in love?”

  This was something that the Prince hadn’t considered. He assumed everyone was in love with him. After all, he made the match-winning strike last week at his jousting tournament.

  “I mean, I don’t think she’d wear that dress if she didn’t want me to kiss her,” said the Prince, pointing at the Princess’s velvety gown.

  “Golly gee! That’s just what she was wearing when she fell asleep!” said the Urchin Boy, completely appalled. “It’s what princesses wear when they hit the balls, because it makes them feel confident and stuff at parties.”

  “I need a new plan,” complained the Prince. “This is an impossible situation and I have been set up for failure.”

  “Welcome to my entire life as a poor urchin boy,” said the boy, staring off into the distance.

  But the Prince didn’t hear him. He was busy brainstorming and couldn’t multitask.

  “I have an idea!” the Prince exclaimed. “If you’re telling me I shouldn’t do a real kiss, I’ll try a butterfly kiss. Maybe that will work instead.”

  The Prince leaned in and started fluttering his eyelashes, lightly grazing the Princess’s cheek. Nothing happened.

  “Damn. I can’t believe that didn’t work.”

  “You have to respect her boundaries!” said the Urchin Boy, pushing the Prince away with his mop. “And that was a dumb idea.”

  But the Prince ignored him.

  “Perhaps an eskimo kiss would be better?” he said. He leaned in again, this time rubbing his nose against the nose of her cadaverous body. It didn’t work either.

  “You’re acting like an infected creepy boil!” said the Urchin Boy. “Please stop touching her.”

  “I’ve got an idea I think will work this time,” said the Prince, brushing him off. “I’ll pretend my hand is a mouth.”

  “No!” said the Urchin Boy. “She needs to agree every time you try something new. And, let me remind you, she hasn’t agreed to anything.”

  But before the Urchin Boy could stop him, the Prince curled his hand into a puppet.

  “I’m a mouth, I can talk,” he said in a high-pitched puppet voice, flapping his hand. “Have I told you that my varsity jousting team is going to the Realm Championship this year?”

  The Urchin Boy sank his head into his palms as the Prince attempted to make out with the Princess using his puppet hand.

  “Bummer,” said the Prince, when nothing happened.

  “You really gotta stop touching her,” said the Urchin Boy. “She’s unresponsive and it’s clearly not working.”

  “Maybe it didn’t work,” said the Prince. “But also, she didn’t, like, say no.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said the Urchin Boy. “Not saying no isn’t saying yes. Ever heard of enthusiastic consent? She needs to say yes and she needs to be excited about it. If she wanted you, she’d be grabbing at your fancy tunic.”

  But the Prince didn’t want to go home now. He’d come so far! He had told his whole team he was coming home with a princess. Maybe breaking the curse was like the ten-second rule when you drop your meat pie on the ground: if you pick it up real quick it doesn’t count. He’d kiss the Princess real quick, but the kiss wouldn’t count. She would never know. It would be like it never happened!

  “I’m only doing this to break the curse—no tongue!” he yelled as he went in for a peck on the Princess’s mouth before the boy could intervene.

  As soon as his lips touched hers, birds began to sing, flowers began to bloom, and everyone in the kingdom raced to the bathroom, because after being asleep f
or a hundred years they really needed to pee. A glow surrounded the Princess as she opened her eyes and gasped for air. The curse had been lifted! The Prince felt totally vindicated.

  “I’m awake!” Briar Rose marveled as she sat up. “Tell me, how was the spell broken, dear strangers?”

  Strangers. Shit. The Prince didn’t expect her to ask that question.

  “Oh, it doesn’t really matter,” said the Prince, trying to brush it off.

  “I must know,” urged Briar Rose.

  “I’ll tell you,” said the Urchin Boy, stepping forward as the Prince tried to hold him back. “He stood over you, drooling lustfully, and while you were passed out, he leaned in and kissed you!”

  The Princess gasped.

  “While I was asleep?!”

  She stared at the Prince, while he failed to come up with a reasonable answer to this question.

  “You must have been into it since it worked, which means I’m your true love,” said the Prince meekly, hoping this would calm her down.

  “There’s an extremely low threshold for true love in this time period!” screamed the Princess. “Most people are betrothed at birth. If a squirrel kissed me, the curse probably would have been broken, but even a squirrel knows better than to kiss someone who is sleeping and can’t give consent!”

  This was not how the Prince imagined this situation going down when he left his parents’ castle a few days ago to search for her.

  “You know what?” said the Prince. “I am so glad you’re awake, but, I’m, uh, late for a, uh, sword-polishing hangout with my dad. Anyway. Ta-ta.”

  And with that, he ran off.

  The King and Queen’s first proclamation post-wakeup was commanding the Prince to return to their castle to take a sexual harassment and consent workshop.

  But the Prince never made it to the workshop. Not because he’s entitled and privileged and found a way out of facing even minor consequences for a heinous act, but because on his way to the workshop he got stepped on by a dragon. One that could actually breathe fire.

  THE END

  SNOW WHITE & THE SEVEN MICROAGGRESSIONS

  NCE UPON A TIME…

  There lived a vain, evil, and verbally abusive queen, who was the stepmother to a teenager named Snow White. Stepmothers tend to get a bad rap in fairy tales, but this one was truly evil. The Queen was concerned Snow White would one day grow to be more beautiful than herself. Not to psychoanalyze the Evil Queen, but there were clearly some deep-seated issues happening for her to feel so insecure.

  Every morning the Evil Queen would look into her Magic Mirror and say:

  “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

  And the Magic Mirror would reply, “Beauty is a subjective social construct, the use of the word ‘fair’ is problematic because it means both ‘white’ and ‘beautiful,’ and I terribly hate casting judgment on appearances. But all that aside, you, my Queen, are the fairest of them all.”

  While the Queen was busy talking to mirrors, Snow White was out living large after moving into a crazy-cute cottage with seven dude roommates who were rarely home. Initially there was a big problem when they left their dishes in the sink and assumed Snow White would deal with the mess. But Snow White put a quick kibosh on that sitch by making a chore chart.

  One day, per usual, the Queen asked: “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

  But before answering, the Mirror decided to pay the Evil Queen a compliment.

  “You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you that your use of the gender-neutral pronoun ‘them’ in your question is quite excellent and inclusive. For an Evil Queen, it’s very impressive,” said the Mirror.

  “Thank you,” said the Evil Queen. “Snow White explained to me that they identify as nonbinary and prefer the pronouns ‘they’ and ‘them.’ They aren’t a maiden, like I thought. So I say ‘them’ to make sure you include Snow White when I ask who is fairest in the kingdom. Because I’ll murder hims, hers, xems, zes, hirs, theys, thems. Really anyone who is hotter than me.”

  “You are doing an excellent job of respecting Snow White’s—”

  “Answer my question!” the Evil Queen snapped.

  “Like I always say before I answer this question, beauty is a subjective—”

  “Blah blah blah, answer the question.”

  “According to industrialized western white beauty standards, it’s no longer you, my Queen. Snow White is the fairest of them all.”

  “Dammit!” the Evil Queen shouted as she took off her tiara and threw it across the room. “Now I have to kill her.”

  “Hold up,” said the Mirror. “You mean you have to kill them. You were doing so well.”

  “I’m too upset to think about language right now! It’s been a huge hassle for me to have to remember every time I’m around her. Them. Whatever!”

  “No. It’s not whatever. It’s really important to Snow White, which is why they had a long conversation with you about it,” said the Magic Mirror.

  “It’s grammatically incorrect anyway.”

  “Not anymore,” explained the Mirror. “Language evolves.”

  “Okay, fine. I want to kill them because they are more fair than me. Is that better?”

  “In terms of pronouns, yes. In terms of content, absolutely not. Baby steps.”

  “Great, let’s discuss their murder.”

  “Can we focus on one problematic thing at a time?” said the Mirror. “We’ll get to why murder is bad later. But since we’re on the topic of respectful language, I’ve been meaning to address something. You see, you have a tendency to commit something called microaggressions on a daily basis. With a lot of people. It’s a problem.”

  “Micro-what?” said the Queen.

  “Microaggressions. They are subtle insults made to marginalized people or mirrors. They are typically delivered in everyday interactions by well-intentioned people, so imagine how bad they are delivered by an Evil Queen.”

  “I do not do that,” replied the Evil Queen. “Ask my henchman! Hey, Mark, come over here! Tell the Mirror how nice I am.”

  The henchman, who lost a leg in a sword fight years ago, came over in his wheelchair.

  “You better slow down or you’re going to get a speeding ticket in that thing!” said the Queen, laughing.

  “That, right there, was a microaggression,” said the Magic Mirror. “It’s ableism.”

  “Oh, come on! That’s how we joke together,” said the Evil Queen. “He likes it.”

  “Um, actually, your Royal Highness, ma’am, Evil Queen,” replied Mark, nervously. “I don’t think it’s funny. It makes me feel defined by my disability. I’ve just been too scared of you to say anything. You throw things.”

  “You’re just being lazy,” replied the Evil Queen. “You could totally walk and use that peg leg if you wanted to. Also, your shirt is ugly.”

  There was a long silence in the room. The Magic Mirror blinked at the Evil Queen.

  “Okay, fine. I was being mean. But that time it was on purpose. Mark, you are dismissed.”

  Mark began to head out of the dungeon room. The Evil Queen called after him:

  “And bring me Bob, my second henchman. Let’s get his opinion on whether I’m doing microaggressions or not. And in the future, you have no reason to be scared of me!”

  Mark did as he was told. A few moments later, the Queen’s second henchman, Bob, walked in.

  “Hi, Bob. Two things. First, I want you to behead Mark. Second, this Mirror thinks I’m committing microaggressions, so I need you to tell it how nice I am.”

  “Yes, Evil Queen,” complied Bob. “You are so nice.”

  “See, Mirror, I am so nice. Also, can we take a moment to compliment Bob on how great his English is. Where are you from again, Bob?”

  “I’m from this kingdom, ma’am,” replied Bob.

  “No, like, where are you from-from? Originally.”

  “Okay! That’s enough,” int
errupted the Magic Mirror. “Those were a bunch of microaggressions, back to back! It might seem trivial to you, but when you told Bob his English was good, you implied that he is an outsider in this kingdom, which is a hidden insult. This creates a hostile work environment for Bob. Even more hostile than working for an Evil Queen.”

  “It was a compliment!” barked the Evil Queen. “Bob doesn’t look like he’s from here.”

  “Microaggression alert!” shouted the Mirror.

  “That hurts my feelings,” said Bob, sheepishly looking at the ground.

  “But, Bob, you can admit you’re highly sensitive, right? I doubt the other foreign-looking henchman would feel the way you do.”

  “I don’t want to speak for all nonwhite henchmen. I can’t possibly represent all of their perspectives. I wouldn’t ask you to speak for all Evil Queens.”

  “Obviously not. I’m special. I’m not like the other ones…Okay, I see your point there.”

  “We’re making strides,” said the Magic Mirror. “I think you’re learning that microaggressions can be unintentional, yet harmful. They are based on institutional oppression and often committed by those in power. And you are very powerful, my Evil Queen.”

  “Indeed I am! We’re done here, Bob. Go behead Mark and then meet me by the guillotine. Don’t worry, it’s not for you. Well, maybe it is. It will be a surprise! Just meet me there.”

  Bob nervously walked out the exit.

  “Great. Now I have to kill both of my henchmen. Magic Mirror, who am I going to get to kill Snow White and those stupid seven dwarfs? Or, wait, let me guess, ‘dwarf’ isn’t acceptable now?”

  “Actually, sometimes it is. The best thing to do is to ask the person what they’d like to be called. Some people with dwarfism prefer ‘dwarf’ and others prefer ‘little people.’ They’re just people, who don’t need to be defined by their size. In general, use their names and if you have to refer to their small stature, saying a ‘person with dwarfism’ is typically best.”