Cinderella Syndrome

Here’s the thing about Cinderella:

She’s up to her elbows in soap suds every day of her adult life. She has no feasible way out of the demeaning tasks imposed upon her by her imposter of a step-mother and impish step-sisters. Cinderella knows that people are mean, that work is endless, that life is unfair. She goes to bed numb and tired and with every right to be bitter.

But she isn’t, or so the story goes, because she is a dreamer. She dreams of a castle and a tall prince and a white wedding, and she is ok. She can get up to scrub the floor and do the laundry because some irrational part of her is convinced that it’s not going to be like this forever. The circle breaks somewhere.

And then it does.

Does she know that it was going to happen all along? Is that why she dreams?

Or is she simply one of thousands of mistreated scullery maids, special only because she gets what she wants? For every Cinderella, are there countless people who never catch a break?

Destiny or chance?

Maybe choice?

I hope she likes the frickin castle. Not everybody gets one.