and now: Storytime.

...with go go Bimbo!

Let's use the Bettelheim Theorem of Early Intervention wherein parents impart vital information to their wee bairns through fairy tales.

...So there must be a very bad reason why. She is not the inheritor. Noble blood of those who fought for queen and country didn't circulate through her head. She should never have scrubbed. She is bad for it. She should have dumped the bucket of mop water over her oppressors' heads and did not. She is bad for it. Between beatings she should have- as they would have, they are sure, had it not been for their forebearers. This makes them deserving of the title. Through mouths stuffed with bonbonmots for which they are grateful- as doubtless such nourishment would not be possible without their forebearers- they name the price paid and due.

Name the actress who wore the white dress. The incantation was like that; Marilyn, no questions asked. It will fit her forever. Her dress was as perfectly tailored to her as Marilyn's is to the mind's eye. Little bugs were forced to poo for weeks on end. Gaping wounds were inflicted on Mother Africa. Perfectly good cheeseburgers: slaughtered, to fit her size fives. This magic formula looked great on her. It looked like what it was: priceless.

They were glass slippers.

Work with me here.

The dowdy publicity agent followed three paces behind in an apologetic black sequined jacket from Lane Bryant. The agent squinted against her effulgence, the look recorded in the anals of People magazine. This explains the stepsisters' daily curdled expressions and the rejection she faced at the ball. Beauty is betrayal when it does not come to you. Its mirror image is betrayal as beauty. Her stepsisters made an effort not to recognize her. They tightened the social circle of backs with words to fortify themselves; fuckbot, sexbot, harlot.

But they were feminists, Mummy.

Who told you that?

(more story, please)