A Modern Day Fairytale

A few months ago, I’d just sat down at work with my morning OJ when the following IM gem made its way across the cyber world and into my heart.

MDF: i farted in my sleep last night, it woke him up :)

Me: i just spit out orange juice

MDF: lol, sawry

Me: you are forgiven, I am so sorry, but it happens

Me: remember the scene with Robin Williams in Good Will hunting? About his wife farting in her sleep?

MDF: yes, but i’m not in a movie, and it was loud!

After My Dear Friend (MDF) and I stopped laughing hysterically, I decided I would like to meet whoever invented the “fairytale”… and punch them squarely in the face.

As little girls, we’re read the stories of Prince Charming and Frog Princes. We’re led to believe that some man will ride in on a white horse, adore us and our perfectly kempt hair enough to find us in a glass box in the forest, or even fight the most epic battles to win our love. Never once did I read, “the handsome prince let her know when she awoke him with a fart”. Clearly Mr. or Mrs. Fairytale writer didn’t know about the importance of TMI Thursdays.

So how would one write the modern day fairytale? Would anyone go on a date? Would courting even exist? Or has feminism, equality, and laziness given us the idea that the woman (or the man for that matter) doesn’t deserve any of the hocus pocus?

I think the modern fairytale would have a perfect mix of reality and fantasy. Something like:

The lady walked into a bar. Her confidence and class was missed by everyone but him, the Gentlemen Jack. The little black dress she donned, the extra detailed way her lips were lined, and the walk. He missed nothing. As she ordered her drink, Johnny Walker Black with a splash, he knew he had to talk to her. He walked toward her and offered his hand in introduction. A strong handshake with a simple, “they call me Jack”. She responded with a smile, “they call me Gofahne”. A spark ignites. Familiarity with a dash of excitement. She’s intelligent, he’s confident. She’s a blended scotch, he’s a single malt. He listens when she speaks and she leans ever so slightly toward him. As she sipped the last of her glass, he asked her if she’d accept another as a trade for a little more of her time. She accepted. Minutes turned to hours, hours turned to days, and days turned into a lifetime. Friends first and companions second. Somehow all of their quirks fit together like pieces of a puzzle. She made him crazy with her inability to just “let go”, but he loved the way her hair fell across her face as she slept and she was forced to stop trying so hard . He drove her mad with his disorganization, but always kept his word to her. And after a lifetime of highs and lows, expanding and shrinking waist lines, and a love that started many years ago, she’d often find herself wondering if her glass slipper? Might just have been a highball glass.