Snow had been fed a liberal amount of fairy tales from a rather young age.
Open wide. Chew them well. Now swallow.
She had been only two when her mother had first introduced her to Snow White, the beautiful, fair maiden who hung out with seven short men. Not only was the character her namesake, but also the inspiration for her early dressing sense. Snow’s mother buried her tiny body beneath layers of frill and lace, each bow securely stitched and fastened.
More fairy tales meant more characters.
Each gave Snow’s mother a chance to treat her beloved daughter like a princess. And Snow loved the lavish attention. She would prance about all day, smiling and singing, wondering when her Prince Charming would pay her a surprise visit.
But when Snow turned fourteen, her mother left this world forever. The young girl dressed up like Belle for the funeral. She was the Beauty and death had been the Beast, ripping her apart from the person she had loved the most.
Snow’s story advanced, and seven months later came along an evil stepmother. But that was just a fabrication of Snow’s troubled, teenaged mind. No woman could ever take the place of her mother. So she lived in a make-believe world of torment, spending her days flipping through fairy tale pages.
School became a chore, her father a big bore, and at the age of sixteen, Snow ran away with the first boy that kissed her. He would be her prince and they would live in a beautiful castle. But her prince turned out to be a druggie, and they lived in a one room dump with three other people.
Snow soon became pregnant, and her prince ran off with another woman. All that remained were the fairy tales buried deep inside her head. But her life resembled little of what she had expected, but then every princess went through a bad patch before things eventually got better.
The baby was born, a daughter who she named Cinderella. Snow juggled three odd jobs to feed and support her princess. She would give her little one the best. It was what fairy tales were made of. But Cinderella grew up only knowing want and poverty. Snow’s fairy tales made little sense to her.
And as was destined, at the age of fifteen, Cinderella changed her name to Cindy and found herself a sugar daddy. He was old but wealthy. Cindy moved into her new apartment, leaving Snow with nothing but solitude and the stink of hardships.
And to this day, Snow remembers her mother and the fairy tales she fed her. But the endings have changed forever. There would never be a ‘happily ever after’.
Snow was a failed fairy tale princess.
The dog reminds them of the old man. So many similarities. Could it be that Dad Came Back As Pancho?