A modern fairy tale

In a faraway land, troubled by reality, there lived a young fifty year old dreamer who was waiting for no one to rescue her.

Not because she was strong, but rather because she knew that no one would.

She washed the dishes every night, pouring extra soap inside the electric blue bowl.

Some hot water.

And as she mechanically massaged the dirty plates and glasses with her naked ungloved hands, she dreamt of Ian, who did not want her.

Who felt she harassed and bothered him with the unsuppressed desires she poured on to him.

He simply did not return her need to share a small chair with him.

Her legs in the air.

Some suspenders.

Very high heels.

And his ageing weight pumping on her uncontrollably.

Sometimes slowly. Painfully so.

He most certainly did not understand her longing to share the remains of their lives together.

But he was meant for her.

And there was no one to rescue her.

So she continued to massage the dirty plates and glasses.

Dreamt of Ian, who had repeatedly told her, and as brutally as he could, that he was not interested in her.

He begged her to stop harassing him with her desires.

Unrequited desires.

And she knew that no one would be coming to rescue her.

And on that small chair, he lifted her legs higher in the air.

One of them hanging loosely on one of his shoulders, the other protruding sharply towards the right.

Further and further towards the right.

That’s right.

The suspenders firmly engulfing her thighs.

And she washed the dishes.

Massaged the dirt gently away from the plates and glasses.

He did not want her.

He tried everything to make her understand that she bothered him.

She was desperate.

Her longing too obvious.

Undiluted by the magic tricks reserved to beginnings.

She kept on trying anyway.

He was embarrassed for her.

So was she.

But she had to find a way to escape the dirty plates and glasses.

So she pretended that she did not understand.

But she did.

Only too well.

His disdain for her grew with each failed attempt on her part to make him want her.

But the dishes were getting dirtier by the day.

Her despair and need to have him lift her legs with his ageing hands up in the air was getting more and more intense.

So she pretended that she did not understand.

And his disdain for her grew one dirty dish after the other.

In this fairytale, the heroine was so desperate, and pathetically infatuated, she belonged anywhere but in the realms of the modern, wickedly fake stories decorated with feisty, rebellious ladies who had it all figured out.

Who were dignified, poised, elegant, and in control of their destiny.

This modern heroine desperately wanted Ian to share a very narrow chair with her.

And along the way, share the rest of their pathetic, filthy lives, filled with addictions, illusions, and legs lifted in the air.

Firmly, confidently decorated with suspenders and unusually and very uncomfortable high heels.

And in between one scene and another, some unhealthy, unusually perverted massaging of dirty plates and glasses.

Some hot water.

But he made it clear that he found her pathetic.

In this fairytale, our shattered heroine did not have time for health coaching and mental wellness rituals.

She wanted to feel Ian frolicking inside of her on the narrow chair.

Pumping hard on her body.

So hard, it caused one of her high heeled shoe to fly across the room, in a cheap, untamed manner.

So unfitting for this supposedly erotic scene taken from a modern fairy tale, revolving around a desperate fifty year old heroine who knew Ian would not be saving her.

And neither did he wish to share a very narrow chair with her.