For a recent project I had to pick a well-known fairy tale and "twist" it to make it my own. You should be able to figure it out. Here is the first of three installments. Once upon a time, a young and beautiful queen got knocked up. The father may have been her husband, King Bartlemee, or her lover, a knight named Sir Firtal. Of course the father of the growing babe inside of her may have been her other lover, Duke Scheemer, possibly her other lover, the cook, who she only knew as “Cook.” The queen was not (and could never be) sure of the paternity of her unborn child, but to keep the young women from sniggering, the old women from shaking their heads, and her wealthy and royal husband from booting her to the gutter, the Queen had it declared formally that Bartlemee was the only possible candidate. She wished inwardly that Sir Firtal was the father, as he was the most intelligent and handsome (he was, in fact, considered the most attractive man in the kingdom) of all her men, but knight was scared at the possibility that it was he that had impregnated the Queen. Somehow he didn’t think the unsuspecting king would appreciate it.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o></o> <o> </o> The Queen’s name was Smarugmuss (it was believed in the kingdom that baby girls who were given hideous names grew up to be beautiful women, and in the queen’s case, this served to be true), and she was indeed quite aware of her striking physical attributes and paid the utmost attention to their upkeep. Smarugmuss loved being beautiful and reveled in herself, but favored some parts of herself more than others (she spent much more time sanding, buffing and powdering her nose than she did polishing the pinky toenail on her left foot). Her favorite aspect about herself was her long, silky, flowing hair. It shone brighter than gold (and so of course she considered it far more valuable than the precious metal) and was smoother and more reflective than the surface of the mirror she so often used to admire herself. Every Thursday night, the Queen’s ladies massaged a mixture of clover honey, swine placenta, and bacon fat into her waist length locks and for the rest of the week her hair smelled like a newborn piglet that had been delivered fully cooked in a hive of bees. The King and her multiple lovers took every opportunity to smother themselves with the Queen’s scented hair, as they enjoyed it immensely: it didn’t disgust them at all, it only made them hungry for pork.<o></o> Needless to say, Smarugmuss was displeased with the way her rapidly swelling belly and filling breasts confused her lovers and brought them great discomfort, so she was just fine when she went into labor a full 6 weeks ahead of schedule. She was secretly excited to be having a baby; an adorable, unquestionably devoted living doll that she could dress up and show off. The Queen was positive the child would be attractive. Even if by some freak happening the baby possessed only quarter, hell, even only an eighth, of its mother’s genes (as opposed to the standard half) it had no choice but to grow to be terribly good-looking. After a surprisingly quick and easy labor, the Queen found herself holding the tiny, squirming red body of her first child, a baby girl. The Queen, following the ugly-name tradition in the kingdom (though of course she was confident she didn’t need to), named her daughter ‘Rapanzulpna.’ The baby had the most startling blue eyes, as deep and shining as sapphires, and certainly possessed her mother’s sweet and delicate features, but she was born without a lick of hair on her little head, not even the fine blonde down that was common on infants who appeared at first to be hairless. King Bartlemee was pleased with baby, but his wife was greatly troubled by the newborn’s complete hairlessness. After a full month had passed and the little girl was still as bald as a turtle, Smarugmuss consulted the midwife, who told the Queen that Rapanzulpna’s baldness was due to the premature delivery (inwardly she believed it to be punishment for the Queen’s notorious vanity), and that hair would surely sprout soon. After yet another month passed without so much as a single strand, and then another, and yet another, the midwife delivered the same speech so the impatient Queen told her to go screw herself and sought the help of the warty, one-eyed witch who lived on the outskirts of the kingdom. <o></o> <o> </o> The witch’s name was Rosemarie (her mother had NOT followed the traditions of the kingdom, instead choosing to give her daughter a pretty name. Consequently, Rosemarie was ugly), and she was known throughout the kingdom and beyond for her skills in potion concocting (as well as her skills in knitting, but that does not play into our story). Smarugmuss explained the situation to the witch, who studied the cooing infant carefully with her good remaining eye (the other had been plucked out and eaten by a goblin when Rosemarie was a toddler). After she heard the full extent of the Queen’s predicament, she sat about fixing a potion for hair growth. Rosemarie warned Smarugmuss that the potion (which was more of a thick ointment) was very, very potent and told her that she must wait for the night of the girl’s third birthday to apply it (CAREFULLY!) to her bald head. The magic properties of the potion were not selective, meaning that if it was to get on any other part of the body, that part would be inspired to sprout an abundance of lush hair. It was important that the oily tonic was allowed at least 6 hours to absorb into skin. If it was to come off, it would not work. The queen snatched the completed mixture from the witch’s hands, threw a pouch of coins at the old woman and whisked her infant daughter back to <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1lace w:st="on"><st1laceName w:st="on">Bartlemee</st1laceName> <st1laceType w:st="on">Castle</st1laceType></st1lace>.<o></o> Though the witch was very adamant in instructing the Smarugmuss to wait until the night of Rapanzulpna’s third birthday, the shallow queen could not stand the naked, shining pate of her otherwise perfectly formed baby. So, after the wee girl had fallen asleep, she used a wooden spoon to smear the greasy paste on the child’s head and then crept out to meet Sir Firtal in the royal stables. As she Queen descended the staircase outside Rapanzulpna’s room, a loud creak woke the baby, who instantly recognized that something was amiss. Her head itched and throbbed, so she furiously rubbed her tiny, gloved hands at the slick goo until her discomfort had ceased. Then, with a large yawn, Rapanzulpna balled her hands into fists, rubbed at the lids that covered her beautiful blue eyes, laid down, and fell back asleep.<o></o> The next morning the queen burst into her daughter’s room, eager to see if the undoubtedly thick head of hair on Rapanzulpna’s head matched her own in hue and luster. Much to her dismay, not a single strand of hair stood on the princess infant’s head. She was preparing to storm off to Rosemarie’s cottage but then suddenly noticed that the silk gloves she placed on her daughter’s hands every night to prevent her from accidentally scratching her rosy cheeks were stained and sticky with the mess that should have been on her head. Then upon further inspection of the peacefully slumbering babe, she saw that the child had indeed sprouted some hair: at the edges of her closed and twitching lids were a fine set of dark lashes. The new eyelashes were so long and lush that they curled almost a full inch off of the baby’s plump little face. Upon even further inspection, the lashes seemed to be growing in front of the startled Queen’s very eyes.<o></o> <o> </o> TO BE CONTINUED…<o></o>
