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|Cindy Ellal (standard:humor, 2475 words)|
|Author: Harold Lorin||Added: Jul 04 2004||Views/Reads: 2209/1377||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Alternate version of cinderella, updated and perhaps more accurate.|
Cindy Ella Harold Lorin I Once upon a time, in New York City, la grande mela, there was a teen-age girl named Cindy Ella whose widowed father had, after a humble beginning, made an great success in the email spam address business. He was a sharp man with few friends and the joy of his life was his daughter. Cindy was beautiful, knew most of the consonants most of the time, was capable of short interchanges, and bore the marks of her father’s barbed nature and his giving and generous love. It came to pass that the father met, at a special-invitation party at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, an elegant lady with two older daughters and somewhat reduced circumstances. They married and the combined family moved to a Duchy in Europe where the natives sometimes wore costumes and the taxes were equally charming. The new step-mother and her daughters received appointments at the National University. The mother was a Professor of Art History, and her not so beautiful, but bright and amiable daughters were, in this order, specialists in Cognitive Science and in Animal Behavior. They were witty, kind hearted, and often had long conversations using adjectival phrases and sophisticated metaphors. The menage installed itself in an ancient castle rented from an Australian newspaperman who also had tax issues. It had not enough staff and much of the original plumbing, for this reason not quite enough water, unless one counted a muddy mosquito swamp that had been, in prouder and more hostile times, a moat. The stepmother and Cindy’s step-sisters worked hard at the University. The father worked hard avoiding taxes and at a new found interest in collecting 17th century Mannerist Slavic paintings that were not difficult to find. Local dealers assured him they had incalculable market potential. “Could be worth anything,” one said. “Who knows in 5 years?” asked another. Cindy was having a difficult time adjusting. She spent much time in her room, trying new lipstick colors and watching for pimples. She so tried the patience of the local International School, that even the promise of a new soccer stadium could not keep her enrolled. The stepmother, to correct her appalling laziness, and instill some idea of accountability, assigned her some light household tasks. Since general provisioning was done by a servant at a mega-supermarket upon whose board sat the heir apparent to the crown, Edmund Hapsburg-Hoehellenzern-Valois-Hanover- Savoy-Rothschild, Cindy was charged with the purchase of the wonderful local cheeses (mostly sheepmilk) and sausages the town market offered on Tuesdays. She was also assigned the task of collecting ashes for the rose garden from the baronial fireplace. The stepmother used the ashes to sweeten the soil around her special teas. “Oh, Daddy, it’s so dreadful here,” complained the beautiful Cindy to her father. “What’s so bad?” he asked, “taxes are nothing.” “It’s triple dull, dull, dullsville,” she said. “Go to Paris for the weekend.” “Again. I’ve been to Paris. Paris is dull. Dull. Dull.” “Improve your mind,” he said, “collect something.” “My mind doesn’t need improving,” she said. Her father did not press the issue. Cindy complained so poignantly of the burden of her duties at the castle that the father spoke to the stepmother about the wisdom, after all, of assigning Cindy household tasks. Click here to read the rest of this story (262 more lines)
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