The youngest daughter was named Beauty, and was indeed fair of face. Her eyes were the clear green of a calm sea; her hair the glossy black of a raven’s wing; her skin the pale cream of a perfect pearl; her lips the rose of (well, you get the idea). Dear Beauty was further blessed with a kind heart and a quick wit, but with her sweet disposition and fair countenance, Beauty was forever tormented by her mother and sisters regarding her appearance. For while Beauty’s mother and sisters (with the aid of Mordreda, the local witch and diet guru, and her many potions) were tall, blonde, and unbelievably (even for a fairy tale) slim, Beauty had the great misfortune (by fairy tale and modern American standards) of being a great deal shorter and rounder than was considered fashionable. And although she had tried every one of Mordreda’s potions, none had produced any lasting effect. In truth, most had made dear Beauty uncharacteristically dopey and grumpy (not to be confused with characters in an entirely different fairy tale).It came to pass in Beauty’s 21st year, that the ruler of this land declared a ball be held in the honor of his son (the Prince, if you haven’t guessed). The King hoped for his son to soon choose a bride, and thus it was ordered that every marriageable maiden attend.When Beauty heard this, she began, with much excitement, to plan for the great event. She would need a new gown, and perchance she could get a good deal on a bolt of red satin in the marketplace (the fairy tale equivalent of the local mall).When her mother heard of Beauty’s plans, she was horrified.
“Red? At your size?” she shrieked. “What could you have been thinking?” What would the peasants say?”
Beauty sighed and resigned herself to the forthcoming lecture. She tried to ignore her mother’s ravings, but found she could not. She had heard this tirade countless times and could anticipate every argument.
“I’m only telling you this for your own good…”
Beauty wanted to rebel, but the endless nagging and criticism only left her feeling empty and confused.
“I know if you would only try harder…”
Her mother meant well, and perhaps she did have a point.
“If only you hadn’t stopped taking Mordreda’s Slime-fasting powders….”
Maybe Beauty should have tried harder. What was a little starvation and mood alteration for the sake of fashion?
“You have such a pretty face…”
Beauty did want to make a good impression on the Prince. So, at her mother’s urging, she relented, and in exchange for several months’ wages, obtained Mordreda’s most recently developed weight-reducing spell along with a thick, foul-smelling appetite-suppressant potion, and a “sensible diet and exercise program.”
Each day, Beauty cheerfully drank the vile liquid, in place of her morning and midday meal, did two hours of the prescribed “sensible” calisthenics and ate the prescribed “sensible” dinner of one-half cup curds and whey (fairy tale brand cottage cheese), one cup of steamed moat weed, and a one-ounce portion of baked dragon’s breast (with the skin removed, of course).
As the weeks passed, Beauty became less cheerful in word and deed, was a shadow of her former beautiful, intelligent, compassionate self. She had lost her glowing complexion along with a good deal of her hair, and in order to stand often needed the assistance of one of her thoroughly unpleasant siblings.
Beauty, however, with the last bit of remaining energy, was overjoyed. She was approaching what Mordreda’s magical charts had listed as her “ideal weight.” And if she looked a bit worse for wear, it was nothing one of Mordreda’s cosmetic spells or potions couldn’t fix. Perhaps, she would even have Mordreda give her blond hair or a tan.
In honor of Beauty’s accomplishments, her mother had ordered a beautiful silk gown to be made. Beauty was touched and deeply grateful (she’d spent most of her cash on the diet ) and only a bit disappointed in the color: a deep, but unexciting navy blue.
“It’s such a slimming color,” her mother had said.
To Beauty’s horror, when she tried on the gown, she found it quite difficult to breath, and as a result to speak, “It’s much too tight,” she gasped.
“I had it made a bit smaller,” smiled her mother, “Don’t worry dear, you’ll lose the little bit of extra weight. Five or ten more pounds and it will fit beautifully.”
But Beauty did worry. How could she dance with the Prince when she couldn’t even lift her arms? What if she could not lose the remaining weight? She had very little of the potion left, and already it had seemed to lose much of its original effectiveness.
That evening, under the strain, Beauty carelessly forgot to remove the skin on her portion of dragon’s breast. The spell was broken.
On the night of the ball, Beauty watched as her mother and sisters left the cottage. In tears, she stepped upon her mother’s bathroom scale. She had already gained back all of the weight and could no longer fit into her gown. Without a replacement, of course she could not go to the ball. And now she weighed more than she had when she started! Three of Beauty’s teardrops fell upon the scale.
Suddenly standing (well floating) before her was a rather plump, but tiny elderly woman with snow-white hair and tiny gossamer wings.
Beauty stood unbelieving. A hallucination brought on by malnutrition, she thought.
“Oh my, oh my, I must have a rest,” puffed the little woman as she folded her wings to her back and descended gently to the floor.
“And give that thing a rest, too,” she added, pointing with revulsion to the scale. “In fact, throw it away!” she commanded.
Beauty found her voice, “Oh, but I couldn’t,” she gasped, “It’s not even mine.”
“Very well, “ the woman said, “I shall do it myself.” And with that, the scale disappeared.
Beauty was horrified. Her mother would be more than a bit displeased when she found the expensive scale missing. “What did you do with it?” she shouted.
“It’s outside dear,” the woman grinned.
Beauty ran to fetch the scale. But instead, she found, parked in front of the cottage, a silver sports car! (After all this is a modern tale).
“Drive it to the ball, dear, and have a good time.”
“But I have nothing to wear,” Beauty sighed.
Before Beauty could blink, she found herself wearing the blue silk dress her mother had given her. Through the little woman’s magic, it now fit perfectly.
As she appraised Beauty’s appearance, the woman shook her head. “It’s really not your color, dear,” she clucked. “No, it just won’t do.” With a wave of her hand, the gown turned a deep, rich scarlet.
Beauty cried out in alarm. “I can’t wear red, I must look ridiculous.”
“Don’t be foolish, child. See for yourself.”
Beauty turned to find a large gilt mirror suddenly and magically (what else?) before her.
When she saw her reflection, Beauty was awed, but then sighed with disappointment.
“That’s not really me, is it? It’s just a magic mirror.”
“Dragon droppings!” the woman scowled. “This mirror learned how to tell the truth the hard way, from Snow White’s wicked queen I might add.” (But that is yet another fairy tale).
“Really?” Beauty whispered, turning to scrutinize her reflection. The transformation truly was miraculous. She looked incredible, though it was true that in the brilliant red gown, Beauty did not look thinner (but then again, the navy gown really hadn’t camouflaged more than a few pounds anyway).
“Are you going to stand there admiring yourself all night or are you going to the ball?”
Beauty was torn back to reality (well, figuratively speaking).
“How can I begin to thank you” I don’t even know who you are.”
The tiny woman looked at Beauty incredulously. Don’t be stupid, child. I’m your fairy godmother of course. This is a fairy tale, what else could I possibly be?”
Sorry,” answered Beauty contritely, “I should have known.”
“Never mind about that,” the woman said, resetting her wings aflutter. “Off to the ball with you.”
As Beauty drove off, she heard her fairy godmother shout to her, “And don’t forget to be home by three a.m.!” (Curfews have changed in the last several hundred years, even in fairy tales).
When Beauty saw her mother at the ball, she felt her heart almost stop. But before she could make a run for it, the Prince himself asked her to dance. Being no fool, Beauty accepted graciously, trying not to drool on His Majesty’s shoes.
Although kind of heart, strong of limb, fearless, bold, valiant, and all that fairy tale Prince-type stuff, the prince was not, to put it in modern terms, a “hunk” (which is why his dad had to give the big bash to get him a date). Actually, he was quite handsome, but rather shy and like Beauty was slightly shorter and rounder than average. Yet Beauty, looking into his smoke gray eyes, found him comely (drop-dead gorgeous, actually) indeed.
Together Beauty and the Prince talked, laughed, and danced until Beauty, seeing it was a quarter of three, quickly scribbled her name and address (and email address, of course, being a contemporary yarn) on a paper napkin (she wasn’t taking any chances) and gave it to the Prince with a kiss.
Running for the door, Beauty kicked off her gold pumps so as to make a swifter retreat. (She needed to get out of there before the magic wore off and her dress started shrinking and her sports car turned into a pumpkin - Well, it was something like that. We’re starting to get our fairy tales mixed up at this point.)
The next morning, when Beauty came down for breakfast, she was met with hostile glares. Her mother was the first to attack.
“Red!” she screamed, “After everything I’ve told her, she wears red! How could you do this to me?!”
“And you looked like a fool, throwing yourself at the Prince like that, “ shrilled her eldest sister.
“He only felt sorry for you because you’re fat,” added the other, for although her sisters did not consider the Prince as comely as did Beauty, they were overcome with jealousy. After all, a Prince was a Prince.
Suddenly a knock at the door interrupted the girls’ squabble. When Beauty’s mother opened the door, there stood the Prince with Beauty’s golden slippers in his hand. All of the women in the room fairly swooned, Beauty included.
“You lost your shoes,” said the Prince quietly, giving Beauty a look that spoke volumes.
“Oh, let me try them on,” cooed one of Beauty’s sisters, batting her eyes outrageously at the Prince.
“No, me first!” screeched the other.
“Get lost ladies,” the Prince said pleasantly, “You’re in the wrong fairly tale, and besides, I’m busy.” Brushing aside the two wide-eyed young women, the Prince took Beauty into his arms and gave her a kiss that all but blistered the paint on the drawbridge.
“I couldn’t be happier,” sobbed Beauty’s mother after the June (naturally) wedding ceremony.
But as Beauty prepared to leave on her honeymoon, her mother whispered a warning into her ear: “You look lovely in that wedding dress, but all brides are beautiful. Better take off a few pounds if you expect to hold on to him.”
Beauty just smiled and kissed her mother on the cheek. (Some things never change, even if fairy tales.) Just then, the Prince whispered something into Beauty’s other ear.
“You beast, “ she replied, laughing as they set off for their honeymoon in their new silver sports car (a wedding gift from Beauty’s fairy godmother). And of course, because this is a fairy tale, Beauty and her Prince, lived happily ever after. But the way they felt about each other, the probably would have anyway.
