Cinderella 2.0

And so Charming held out his hand and the horse-drawn carriage with which he was to carry his new bride away screeched to a halt.

"You imbecile, I distinctly remember telling you that you were to stop just before the ratty little cobblestones outside that run-down house!"

Without waiting for his snotty little driver to reply, he flicked his shoulder-length, perfectly-coiffed hair over his tailored shoulder piece and descended daintily onto the filthy streets of the district.

"Lay out your coat for me to walk on, my shoes are new today."

His aforementioned "imbecile driver" (otherwise known as Ivan) sighed mentally.

"Well, aren't they new every day..."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I meant to say, 'Right away, Sire'."

Ivan bent forward and mentally told him to shove off, all while smiling as pleasantly as he could and laying out his best coat on the floor. Charming tossed his hair again and strode across Ivan's coat, making sure to grind it further into the cobblestone dirt with each step. Flinging open the doors of the cottage dramatically, he stood arms akimbo, all the while smiling Charmingly™ at the astounded residents of the house.

And waited.

And waited.

After about three seconds, his patience had worn thin.

"IMBECILE, WHERE'S THE WIND?!"

"Right away, Sire."

The weary Ivan ran forward and fanned Charming furiously, causing his ridiculously unnecessary cape to flutter gorgeously in the "wind".

All natural handsomeness, you see.

And Charming was pleased.

Satisfied, he strode snobbishly along the dusty ground of the house, loudly declaring a desire to meet with the "fair maiden who was able to fit into the glass slippers".

An awkwardly beautiful young lady stepped forward, and Charming's heart fluttered like a teenager's. This was her. He'd know her anywhere.

Her shiny hair resembled spun gold, and her complexion was as fair as fresh cream. Her nose, delicate and adorable, provided a lovely balance to the unabashed fullness of her lightly flushed lips. He sighed appreciatively, eyes trailing down to her tiny waist. The tight bodice she wore accentuated her beautiful shapeliness delightfully, and he delighted at the perkiness of her ample bosom.

His tone softened almost immediately. "Beauty, whatever is your name?"

"Ella," she replied, too shy to meet his eye.

At this moment, Ivan came rushing in, glass slipper in hand.

"Sire..."

However, Ella looked up at the sudden intrusion, and Ivan caught her eye. Their breaths hitched simultaneously, and Ivan nearly dropped the shoe.

"Ivan, pass me the shoe," Charming declared pompously, annoyed at the constant eye contact between the two.

In a flash, Charming had slipped the glass shoe onto Ella's foot, and was making eyes at her. "Oh, my fair lady, your foot is truly a perfect fit. You must come back to my palace and be my lawful wedded wife!"

She blanched. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. I...can't. There is another man."

His heart sank. "Who, pray ask, is this man so unworthy of your honorable love?"

Bashfully, she sidled over to Ivan. This time, it was Charming's turn to go completely pale.

"Him?!"

Ivan shrugged. "Well, you could always fire me, Sire, I'm getting too old to work anyway."

Combined with Ella's torturingly pleading eyes, Charming couldn't help but give in.

"Very well."

Dejected, Charming turned around and left, leaving Ella and Ivan in privacy. Just as Ivan was about to carry Ella off into the romantic sunset, a booming voice spoke for the last time from the doorway.

"Just one kiss, though?"

"No, Sire."

Charming pouted. "Fine, then I want the shoe back."

Your Perfect Woman

If I ran a matchmaking agency, it'd go something like this...
Although I think I'd run out of business in the first day.
Actually I wrote this a while back because I was frustrated with the standards some guys have for women ("What, you mean you're not perfect too?!")...
Moral of the story being: If you want THE stereotypically perfect woman, you'll probably have to settle for a fake one.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He sits across the table from me, eyebrows knitted, evidently sick of searching all his life for The One and failing miserably. Oh, poor fellow.

I smile and open my laptop.

"Okay, so run me through your list of criteria," I begin, fingers poised over the keyboard.

He licks his lips. "She's got to be hot, obviously."

I begin typing. "Nothing new."

"Long hair, long legs, long eyelashes."

"Go on."

"But shorter than me, of course." A rather unsettling grin creeps onto his face. "Oh, and she's got to be a C cup at LEAST."

I purse my lips and mumble, "Wow, that's deep."

Unfortunately he hears me and glares at me, but he continues anyway. "And she has to have lots of stamina. You know what I mean."

I make a face behind the laptop.

Leaning back, he looks out the window. "I want her to be submissive. I can't stand a woman talking back to me."

"Of course, sir. I'm sure she's got to be the perfect woman."

He bends forward and looks me in the eye. "You gonna help me find a hot chick or not?"

"...Actually, I do have the perfect woman for you. Please excuse me for a couple of minutes."

He smirks cockily and puts his hands behind his head. "I'll be waiting right here."

---

I rap on the door five minutes later, holding a blow-up doll of epic proportions. Or maybe epic measurements. It doesn't matter.

He flings open the door and practically leaps on her. (Fortunately I step aside in time.)

"Ohoho she's real fine... WAIT."

I grin innocently. "Pardon me, sir, aren't you happy with our selection? She's perfect, you know."

"But she isn't real!" He squeezes her in a rather immodest place, almost as if to prove his point.

"Exactly. Always a pleasure to leave a customer satisfied, sir."

I smile politely and show him the bill.

Snow White, kind of...

Richard - on his high horse as always - rode slowly and sexily down his usual route. He was getting bored of all his twenty-five wives in the palace, and he would have liked a bit of variety in his mundane life.

Just then, he stumbled across what appeared to be a funeral amidst a thicket of bushes. He would have snorted and continued on his way, if not for the fact that he had caught a glimpse of a particularly beautiful woman lying in the open casket.

He descended from his horse and walked over to the (gasp) vision of pure beauty lying there. Upon closer inspection, he realised there were seven midgets obscuring the view.

Proceeding to shove two of the oddly short men out of his way, he knelt beside the casket and caressed her silky black cropped curls. She looked so beautiful, being dead and all, and he couldn't help himself.

He felt a sudden stirring in his gut, and a strong necrophiliac urge overtook him. He bent down to press his lips upon hers, and the seven dwarves collectively inhaled sharply.

However, the moment his lips brushed hers, she sat up, coughing, and a slice of an apple fell from her mouth. He immediately stood up and looked her up and down for a few seconds.

Her eyes fluttered upon, and her gaze settled upon the tall, equally dark-haired prince. "Oh, darling, have you come to rescue me from the curse?"

He frowned, and the beautiful lady looked quite taken aback.

Drawing his sword, he proceeded to plunge it into her stomach. As she fell to the ground, lifeless, he caught her in his arms, and smiled dashingly.

"I like her better this way."

---

I'm sorry, that was so random.
For the life of me, I've never understood why any prince would kiss a dead woman.
Just saying...

Advertising

Inspired by a conversation I had recently...

---

She stepped out of the changing room and did a 360-degree turn. "So, Mother, what do you think of this skirt?"

Her mother's eyes bugged out of her head, and she exclaimed, "Mercy, Felicia! That skirt is entirely too tight!"

Felicia patted her bum and smiled at her reflection approvingly.

"This, Mother, is called advertising."

This is why I get fat

This one is so lame it'll make your eyes burn. Sorry.

---

He lay awake in the dark, that dull craving deep within him begging to be satiated.

No. I can't do this, I promised myself I'd never let my urges get the better of me.

Another two minutes passed, and he could have sworn it felt like an eternity to him. He sat up abruptly, an intense expression on his face.

Forget it. I'm moving in.

He slipped one foot off the bed, then the other, careful not to wake his still-sleeping wife. In a flash, he was out the door and tip-toeing carefully towards the room straight ahead.

The room of weakness.

The room of temptation.

The room where desires were met.

But also the room where he had fallen. And if he had fallen once, he could fall again.

He was horrified with himself, but his hand reached out involuntarily and slid slowly over the object of his desires.

Suddenly, the light clicked on, and he froze.

Just then, he heard his wife. "What're you doing, James?!"

Unable to form a coherent excuse, he started stammering.

"I thought I told you to stop eating my bloody cookies."