The next house I carry my Princess’s shoes to is quaint and unassuming. It has brick and siding and blue awnings. I knock on the door still thinking about how ridiculous I fucking look, carrying two mismatched size shoes around with me everywhere. To perfect strangers’ houses.
The woman who opens the door to this house looks positively thrilled to see me.
“Come in, come in, hello there, hello there,” she crackles. There are two young women behind her smiling and saying “Oh so good to see you,” “hello, come in.”
Word has definitely gotten out. Everybody wants to be my new princess. But these ladies seem particularly overeager in a way that’s off putting. I almost just turn around and leave. The girls are cute enough but not as cute as they think they are. Plus, they have boring personalities to match her flat asses.
I know that neither of them is my princess. But something makes me pause. “Is there anyone else who lives here?” I ask. “Or anyone else here at all right now?”
“Nope, no one,” they all say, shaking their heads, but they look suspicious. I peer around but I don’t see anything. I need a reason to continue being in this house.
“I’m looking for a certain someone who fits these shoes,” I say, kneeling down and holding them up. “Would it perchance be you?”
I look at one of them— the brunette one— and give her my best flirty smile. She practically melts, I can tell. I bet she wants me so bad. But there’s only one woman that I want and I’m not stopping until I fake marry her.
“Oh let me try it on and see,” she says, moving over to a chair in the corner. She sits down and I put the shoe on her left foot and it actually kind of fits. It’s a little snug but she wiggles around in it acting as if it fits her perfectly. But I know the next shoe will be the test.
“Okay and what about this one?” I say, holding up the odd size shoe.
“Of course,” she says and tries to put her foot into it. No, her foot is way too big.
“It fits just fine,” she says hobbling around the living room looking ridiculous.
She looks down and seems to realize this.
“I think it does, don’t you mother?” she insists, continuing the charade.
“I do,” her mother says. Of course.
“I don’t really think it does,” says the other one.
“I have to agree with you,” I say. “Should we see if they fit you?”
“Oh yes,” says the second one, sitting down where the first one had just been and holding out her foot for me. I take it gingerly because I don’t really want to touch it and I put the first shoe on her foot. It’s actually a little big on her and she stretches her toes to try to act like it fits better.
“I don’t know,” I tell her but then for shits and giggles I decide to see how she pretends to fit the other one.
“Here you go try this one.”
I put the other one on her and it’s also too big. She nearly falls and breaks her ankle as she stands up.
“I can do this; it’s just fine,” she says.
She slides as the shoes around her as she drags her feet across the floor to make sure they don’t fall off.
“I think that one definitely fits,” the mother says but the other sister starts bursting out laughing.
“Oh mommy don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “They don’t fit her at all. They fit me better. I’m the one you’re looking for,” she tells me. “Let’s go get married.”
Geez, women in America are fucking forward. Or maybe it’s just these women. They seem to have a screw or two loose.
All of a sudden I hear a ruffling and a crash from what looks to be a pantry or broom closet to the left of the chair.
“What’s that?” I ask them all.
“Nothing,” says the mother.
She comes over and puts her hand on my back, which is not a welcome gesture. I move away.
“Well, are you going to marry one of my daughters or should you be getting out of my house now?” the stepmother demands.
“No need to rush him,” says the one whose feet were too big for the shoes, sashaying up beside me barefoot, and batting her eyelashes at me. “You can really have me if you want.”
She shakes her boobs in my direction as if that’s going to convince me.
“I’d like to see what’s going on in that closet in there,” I say, ignoring her. “I thought you said nobody else was here.”
“We did say that. She’s just our cat,” the mother says.
I hear banging and a muffled sound, as if someone is saying, “It’s me.”
“That doesn’t sound like a cat,” I say, walking towards the closet door. “Unless you have a magical cat who can talk.”
I take another look at them and realize that might be entirely possible with these crazy people.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave or I will call the police,” the mother says.
I hear the sound of breaking wood and the door opens just a crack. A small but strong voice shouts, “I’ll try on the shoes.”
“Fuck,” says the older lady under her breath and I gasp, surprised at her foul language. It takes a lot to surprise me when it comes to foul language but she manages to do it. I wasn’t expecting it out of someone her age.
“Hello,” I say and pull open the door.
Here is my Gothic Cinderella. I’m sure of it.
But she takes the slippers from my hand which I had retrieved from the one with the feet that were too small for them, and she places them on her feet perfectly.
“Look,” she says with a laugh. “I told you my shoes are two different sizes. How embarrassing.”
“There’s nothing embarrassing about it,” I tell her, grabbing her to me and kissing her. We kiss for as long as we can before the mean lady who had her trapped in the closet comes up and practically pulls us apart.
“I knew you had deceived me,” the woman says. “I knew you went to the Ball last night and someone helped you pull it off. Probably your father’s awful sister.”
“You leave dad out of this,” my Gothic Princess says. “And Aunt Ashley too. I don’t have to worry about you anymore. Or at least I won’t, very soon.”
“What does that mean?” the old lady says and I can tell she’s very upset by this. I can also tell that my princess is not used to standing up to her but she is right now for me or maybe for her father or both of us. Either way I’m proud of her
“Nothing,” she says. “I have a royal marriage to attend. My own.”
She smiles at me and I take her hand.
“If you leave then say goodbye to the business,” the lady says, making a grab for her as I try to pull her out the door. Something falls to the floor with a clink and my princess looks down and gasps.
“My pumpkin necklace!” she cries, picking it up.
“What’s wrong?” I say, and take the trinket from her hand.
“Oh good the chain broke but the pendant is solid and it will be okay. It’ll definitely be okay,” I reassure her and although she was starting to cry she smiles.
“I need to have this with me at our wedding,” she says. “This was from my father.”
“I have the perfect solution,” I tell her.
“You certainly are a planner,” she jokes. “Always having the best plans and solutions.
“Not really,” I admit. “I just make things up on the fly and try to figure out the rest of it later, as I go. But right now, we have to hurry up or our guests will be long gone.”
And with that I whisk her away from this awful life she apparently lives and into a whole new fairytale world.