Cinderella and the Glass Ceiling

by Laura Lane

  “Oh, come on! I can’t fix a system-wide problem,” he replied. “But since we’re talking, any chance you know Belle’s dad? Maybe from some parents of kidnapped children meetup or something? He won’t talk to us but maybe you could get him to pay us a visit? Just need a quote or two!”

  “Nope!” said Jamila’s brother as he and his parents stormed out of the office and slammed the door.

  Back at the castle, Jamila realized she needed to save herself. Well, shit, she thought.

  “Hey, pals, any interest in being my accomplices and busting me out of here?” she asked her furniture friends one day. “I have a plan but I need your help.”

  “Heck yeah!” said the Succulent. “Our favorite story is ‘Spellshank Redemption.’ I’ll start getting supplies!”

  They began to collect the items she would need for the escape: a wooden spoon, 874 scarves, a pack of rubber bands, and some sticks. These were not the actual items Jamila wanted, but they were less suspicious versions of a shovel, a rope, and a bow and arrow.

  Next, it was time for the furniture to begin training. They needed to get swole.

  The Bar Cart practiced sprints along the castle hallways.

  The Succulent pumped iron and drank plant protein.

  And Mat, who had never swam in his life, began getting used to water by taking dunks in the guest room washbasin. After weeks of prep, the team was ready.

  “Tomorrow, we ride,” Jamila said.

  The next day, Victor Beast started his daily back shave. Once she heard the sound of the Razor, Jamila gave the objects the signal: it was go time!

  Jamila pushed her bed aside to reveal a tunnel she’d been digging with the wooden spoon. She crawled through the tunnel and out into the garden. She breathed in the fresh air and ducked behind a bush to catch her breath. She looked for her next move.

  Jamila darted over to a nearby tree and scaled the trunk. Her plan was to quickly create a DIY zipline so she could sail over the castle gates to safety with the help of the Bar Cart. She tied the makeshift rope of 874 scarves to her bow and arrow made of sticks and rubber bands. Archery practice was about to pay off! She shot one arrow into the castle tower where the Bar Cart was waiting and another over the gates into a tree, stringing a long scarf zipline.

  Jamila gave the signal to the Bar Cart.

  “Bottoms up!” screamed the Bar Cart as she held on to her glassware and ziplined upside down on her wheels toward Jamila in the tree. “Wahooooo!”

  But just as the Bar Cart was reaching Jamila to scoop her up and zipline over the gates to freedom, Victor Beast burst through the castle doors, galloping full speed toward the two of them in the tree. And the one thing beasts and basic bros at the gym never do is skip leg day.

  But no worries—Jamila was prepared to hold him off! She reached into her pocket and pulled out the spiky extra limbs that the Succulent had grown. She chucked them at the Beast, spinning them like ninja stars. They sliced into the Beast’s hairy arms, slowing him down ever so slightly. It was barely enough time for Jamila to get into the Bar Cart and sail over the Beast’s head as they flew toward the castle gates.

  They were about to clear the gates until one of the scarves came loose and the zipline SNAPPED! Jamila and the Bar Cart tumbled toward the ground. They looked behind them and there was the Beast—racing toward them.

  “Run, run, run!” shouted the Bar Cart. “I got you!”

  As Jamila scrambled for the gates, the Bar Cart steadied herself and tossed every shard of expensive glassware she still had on her at the Beast’s head. One chunk of a heavy glass hit Victor Beast right between the eyes. The Beast went cross-eyed. Seeing ten Jamilas, he stumbled around, disoriented, not knowing which one to race after.

  Jamila pulled herself over the gates using the broken zipline rope and sprinted until she reached the castle moat. Crap! The drawbridge she had jogged over months ago had been raised. But, no problem! She had a backup plan. She whipped out the Doormat from underneath her coat.

  “Oh man, I was hoping Plan B wouldn’t be necessary,” Doormat Mat said, whimpering. “This is way scarier than a washbasin.”

  “You got this, Mat,” Jamila said reassuringly.

  He nodded.

  Jamila threw him onto the moat’s chilly water, stood on top of him, and used a nearby stick to paddleboard over the moat. And Mat didn’t complain once. Because being a good ally means carrying your friends in their time of need—literally.

  They made it to the other side and looked up. Jamila could see her village in the distance. She was free!

  An hour after Jamila burst through the front door of her home and ran into her parents’ arms, they still hadn’t let go.

  Soon her family got a chance to meet the Bar Cart and the Succulent when the rest of Victor Beast’s furniture escaped through Jamila’s tunnel. They furnished the entire town with fancy new luxurious goods. Except for the newsroom, which had to get by with unsightly, dated interiors. Victor Beast was cursed to live alone in his empty, furniture-less castle forever, with an incredibly hairy back.

  Now, can you believe after all of that, the only kidnapping story you’ve heard is about a girl with Stockholm Syndrome who spent her time reading library books and playing in the snow with her captor?

  Neither can we.

  THE END

  SOME PRINCESSES ARE GAY

  NCE UPON A TIME…

  There lived a prince who wanted to marry a princess. Also, his dad required him to marry a princess if he wanted to take over the successful family business of ruling the kingdom.

  But it couldn’t be just any princess from any rando kingdom. She needed to be smart, have great hair, and run a lifestyle blog. Finally, if the Prince was really getting serious with her, she had to undergo a special test. She had to prove she was delicate and sensitive enough to feel a single teeny tiny pea underneath twenty mattresses and twenty memory-

  foam pads.

  There were many problems with this stupid test. For starters, being delicate and sensitive are not traits required for a male ruler. Also, blueberries would have smelled much nicer than peas. But, hey, this test had been passed from one royal generation to the next and no one ever questioned it.

  The Prince chatted, swiped, and met a lot of princesses, but none who warranted a dinner date after a mead date. His parents were getting so concerned they had considered setting him up with the Queen’s friend Sylvia’s daughter even though she hadn’t quite outgrown her goth phase.

  One night, a terrible storm blew through the kingdom. Safe inside, the Prince sipped a mulled wine while playing games with a few squires when he heard a knock at the door. He rushed to the castle gates and there standing in the rain was a young woman.

  “Can I please stay the night and wait out the storm?” she asked. “I’m a princess and I was on my way back to my kingdom when my horse got spooked by the lightning and ran off.”

  She peered inside and saw the squires.

  “Are you all playing Dungeons and Dragons?” she exclaimed. “That is my favorite game! At my castle, we play in our actual dungeon with my pet dragon nearby because it feels festive.”

  They spent the evening playing various games, discussing where they went to finishing school, and listening to their favorite indie wizard bands that could simultaneously cast spells and shred on the mandolin.

  The Prince couldn’t believe his luck! The Princess was funny, smart, and he enjoyed her company. The King and Queen, who had been subtly listening in from the next room, could barely contain their excitement.

  “Don’t mind us!” said the Queen as she burst through the door with a bowl of turkey leg snacks so she could get a better look at the Princess. “We thought you two might want something to munch on.”

  “Hey, squires, take a hint and skedaddle,” said the King.

  The Princess appeared to check off all of the boxes. Even after getting caught in a storm, she still had great hair. Anyone who could beat the Prince at so many game
s clearly had a brain, and a quick search revealed her popular lifestyle blog, called The Twig, which she posted on a scroll outside her castle each morning. She was perfect!

  It was time for the pea test. The King and Queen placed a tiny pea on the bottom of a guest room bed, gathered twenty mattresses and twenty memory-foam pads from around the castle, and piled them on top. They hoped the Princess would have as much of a hard time sleeping tonight as they would waiting for the results.

  The Prince and Princess said goodnight to each other and parted for their separate rooms. The Princess thought it was extremely bizarre that she needed to climb an extension ladder to get to the top of her bed but figured maybe that was just what they considered chic interior design in this kingdom. Either that or they had a roach problem.

  In the morning, the family gathered in the dining hall and waited for the Princess to awaken. Would she pass the pea test? Was she so refined as to feel a single pea underneath twenty mattresses and twenty memory-foam pads? Was she “the one?”

  Finally the Princess walked into the room. She had bags under her eyes and yawned widely.

  “Is coffee a thing in this kingdom? If so, I’d love a quadruple espresso.”

  “I take it you didn’t sleep well?” the Queen asked giddily.

  “Was there anything wrong with your bed?” asked the King.

  Normally she wouldn’t have complained, but maybe they wanted genuine feedback on their strangely tall beds.

  “You would think a lot of cushion would be comfortable but to be honest, it felt like there was a giant rock stabbing me in my back all night,” said the Princess.

  “Hooray!” said the Prince. “You passed the test! We put a pea under your bed to see if you would feel it. And you did! Will you marry me?”

  “At least there’s not a roach problem. Also, no. I’m gay.”

  “Really?” said the Prince.

  “Yep. I am very much attracted to women. Mostly, brown eyes with cheekbones that can slice a stone,” said the Princess. “This isn’t, like, something I’m making up to get out of marrying you.”

  “You can’t be gay, you seem so normal,” said the King.

  “I am normal. You’re the one who stacks forty mattresses on top of each other.”

  “But you could feel the pea!” said the Queen. “That means you’re delicate and sensitive, like all the straight princesses I know. Except for Sylvia’s goth tragedy of a daughter.”

  “Whoa. What exactly do you think lesbian princesses are like?” said the Princess, scrunching her forehead.

  “The way you asked that question makes me think maybe I shouldn’t answer it,” said the Queen.

  “How do you know you like women?” asked the King.

  “I’ve just always known,” explained the Princess patiently. She’d been through this before.

  “But… how?” repeated the King.

  “The same way I know you put a pea under my mattresses last night,” said the Princess. “It’s obvious.”

  “But if you’ve never been with a prince, how do you know you wouldn’t like it?” asked the Queen.

  “Do you need to kiss a frog to know you don’t want to kiss a frog?” asked the Princess.

  “Well, actually, my cousin kissed a frog and it worked out great for her,” said the Prince.

  “I heard about that. Bad example,” said the Princess. “My point is, I know I don’t want to kiss a prince.”

  “But who will you pass your crown on to?” asked the King. “Royal legacy can’t end because you’re into chicks.”

  “If I meet another princess I dig, I can marry her, rule the land, and when we’re ready, we’ll figure out how to have a family if we want. There are a lot of options and different kinds of families.”

  “Hm. It’s strange we’ve never thought about that as an option,” said the Queen.

  “Indeed it is,” said the King. “I suppose we’ve just never met a gay princess before.”

  “Or you didn’t realize it,” said the Princess. “A lot of people assume it’s not hard to be gay anymore because it’s so accepted in pop culture thanks to Modern Royal Family, but discrimination and violence toward gay people still exists.”

  “Thank you for explaining all this to my parents,” said the Prince. “Before you head home can we play one more game of Dungeons and Dragons? We could also listen to the new album from Sorcerer Youth.”

  “Totally. But one last thing. You all gotta get rid of the pea thing,” said the Princess. “I almost fell off the bed a few times. It’s super dangerous. And the only thing that test actually reveals is what a whiny house guest someone is to complain about the guest bed.”

  “Come to think of it, why can’t I just rule the kingdom on my own?” said the Prince.

  “It’s strange we’ve never thought about that as an option either,” said the King. “I guess you can! We just assumed happiness was a retread of our own life and how we lived. The pea test worked for us. We’ve been married forty-seven years!”

  “I never felt the pea,” the Queen said quietly.

  “What?!” said the King.

  “I had a huge crush on you and bribed one of the ladies in waiting to tell me about the test,” said the Queen. “But it all worked out, right?”

  “Indeed it did,” said the King.

  From that day forth, future female leaders were tested for their integrity, intelligence, and taste in music, the Queen gave the extension ladder back to the fire department, and the only thing peas were used for was soup.

  THE END

  UNDER NOBODY’S THUMB

  NCE UPON A TIME…

  There lived an adventurous and charming young woman named Thumbelina who was single and liked to mingle. She was a capital “I” Independent woman. She was a very little lady about town. How little, you ask? Let us explain.

  There was an old woman who lived on her own in a cottage in one of those small artsy towns that retired single ladies like to live in two hours away from a major city. She longed for a child, so she decided to call up the local witch. She heard magic spells were easier than IVF.

  The witch gave her a piece of barley corn and told her to plant it.

  “I guess the witch wants to see if I can keep a flower alive before I keep a human alive,” said the woman to herself, worriedly looking over at all of her dead ferns.

  Despite her concerns, she watered the plant studiously and one day it bloomed. When it opened, a young woman the size of a thumb was sitting inside of the flower.

  “I will call you Thumbelina,” said the woman, whose own name was Lampina, because she was the size of her parents’ floor lamp and assumed that’s how you named people.

  Thumbelina was magically born as a young adult, and while it’s a shame she missed her early childhood, on the bright side she was able to skip over the worst parts of puberty. While most people who miss their childhood usually end up filling the void with drugs and paparazzi, Thumbelina had a grounded life full of singing, gardening, and sleeping in a tiny walnut shell.

  Just like her mother, Thumbelina had no interest in settling down.

  All of Thumbelina’s besties were frogs since it was easier to share clothes with creatures her own size. The frogs loved Thumbelina’s wild dating stories at brunch, but if they were being honest, they felt like it was time for her to pick a sig other instead of jumping from log to log.

  One evening, they decided to intervene. While Thumbelina was fast asleep in her walnut shell, her frog friends kidnapped her to introduce her to one of their respectable single friends, a toad named Toady McToad.

  “We’re setting you up on a blind date. So fun!” exclaimed one of the frogs. “He’s single, he wants to settle down and he only has two warts.”

  “Girls, you know I love a good setup, but I have no interest in meeting Toady McToad or anyone looking to lock me down,” said Thumbelina. “I am happy dating around and hooking up with whomever I want. I’m safe, I feel empowered, and I know the bes
t shared appetizer at every restaurant.”

  “But if you fall in love with Toady, we can all go on group dates and you don’t have to be a fifth wheel all of the time,” croaked one of the friends. “It makes us uncomfortable and sad. For you.”

  “That’s your projection, because I’ve never had a problem being a third wheel or fifth wheel or any wheel,” said Thumbelina.

  “Toady McToad is a great toad,” said one of the friends. “He’s funny and he isn’t like one of those fuckboys you usually date.”

  “Wow. Yes, I am into fuckboys. But you said you loved my stories about the raccoon who lived in that oak tree penthouse and the beetle who invited me on tour with him. I do not appreciate you slut-shaming me,” said Thumbelina.

  She hopped on a lily pad nearby, flashed her friends a peace sign, and began floating downstream. “Peace out, jerks.”

  “You’ll thank us when you stop amplexusing around!” they croaked after her. “That’s a frog mating position, by the way!”

  The current was strong, and soon Thumbelina was miles away from home. She steered her lily pad over to the side of the river and began looking for shelter, but she was deep in the woods. This was worse than the time she forgot to book a hotel on vacation and ended up crashing in a squirrel’s nest with nest bugs.

  Soon she came upon a tiny door in a tree stump and knocked, forgetting everything her mother had told her about stranger danger. The door swung open and there stood a mouse.

  “Oh my! Come inside you poor little thing, you must be starving,” said the mouse, who introduced herself as Aunty Mouse.

  Thumbelina was grateful for the food and warmth, while Aunty Mouse was grateful to have someone to show off her craft room to, where she bedazzled fanny packs to sell at the market.

  After a few days, though, Aunty Mouse started pestering Thumbelina about her single status. Like any normal aunt, the three things she was best at were gifting clothes from the 80s, making deviled eggs, and getting way too invested in someone’s dating life.