Dating; the trials one must complete before finding a fairy tale ending.
Have you noticed though, in most fairy tales it’s often love at first sight, song or glass slipper. Followed by one peck on the lips and then they’re married before they realise how incompatible their personalities are, or how dull their sex life is. That would be like the modern girl updating her status to “in a relationship” before realising the prince in question had given her chlamydia and shagged most of her mates.
Where was all the strife and the drama? Where was all the Instagram-jealousy and arguments over dick pics on his phone? That’s the point, fairytales don’t have them. So when you spend three days ‘straight’ with someone you’ve just met, you might question whether a happy ending is really that far-fetched?
Once upon a time in a land south of the river, a beautiful princess found herself in distress. Surrounded by the goblins and gremlins than lurked in the garden of Fire, she started to realise that perhaps there was a reason that her fairy godmother had warned her about those darker places on the scene.
Out of nowhere was her knight in a shining Ralph Lauren gilét. Well, it wasn’t so much ‘shining’, as it was the crystals of spilt mephedrone on his collar were glistening in the ambient lighting of the smoking area. And though perhaps the closest he’d ever be to riding in on a white horse, was clip-clopping around a chill out on Ketamine, there was something about him that caught her eye. OK, so perhaps he was more of the stable boy than a prince, but this princess weren’t particularly fussy tbh.
He might not have been tall like Gaston or muscled like Hercules, but he had something the princess had very seldom seen in other suitors; banter. They spoke for hours over Malboro Lights, before he publicly kissed her amongst the countless Vauxhall peasants, and a lot of evil queens. Girl was so G’d up she ’bout to declare her love for him to all the ugly sisters.
With that they pursued a horse-drawn Uber to a small kingdom called Sydenham. At one point the princess went real squiffy, but thankfully it was a false alarm, cause once she goes even true loves kiss ain’t waking that hoe up. And you know she wouldn’t have been no Sleeping Beauty.
Not expecting the Sultan to be home, they were surprised to find him at the palace. She introduced the prince as a “friend from Gran Canaria” and shoved him into her bedroom.
Once he’d left, the princess decided to turned this Disney shit a little PG13, slipped off her ball gown into her stretchy undergarments from Slick It Up. And while this gave the prince an uncontrollable urge to stroke his sword, the princess sensed he wouldn’t be doing no stabbing without some magic beans. Like the ones Jack used to make his stalk grow. Even if the princess was rubbing it like genie’s lamp.
But it wasn’t (all) about the sex. Beyond physical, they had a connection.
Unlike the other contenders the Princess had encountered, she felt bound to the prince – despite their different backgrounds. After all, she was a successful blogger from South London while he was still stumbling around the closet like Ariel with legs.
But if Belle can get past such Beastly body hair, it seemed like a small amount of baggage in comparison.
Although allow him coming for her, asking the only question more personal than a woman’s age; the number of men she’s slept with. Obviously the princess blagged that shit better than a old queen handing out poisonous apples. Although not sure how much he believed it as he still tried to finger-gun her like some basic village bitch.
Their journey lead them to another palace party (obvs), before they decided to spend the night in a hotel. After all, the princess couldn’t have the Sultan within earshot of what she had planned. Forget sitting on the throne, she wanted to sit on his face.
After roaming around London, encountering more fucked up characters than the inhabitants of Oz, they were repeatedly told there was no vacancies. No room at the inn. Kind of like Mary, only these bitches weren’t virgins. Until a kind, although totally basic, reception bitch gave them a room. Once they were settled, disrobed, and under the heavy spell of marijuana – they slept in each others arms.
She expected to wake up in an empty bed after the Prince, in now-sober clarity, had left her there. But he was still there when the sun arose. The following day, he kept her company at her part-time job at a tanning salon. (‘Cause you know a princess gotta look pretty right).
What followed was two days of laughter, intimacy and intensity. They shared secrets and experiences that they’d never spoke of to anyone before.
“I feel like I can be myself around you. And I don’t want you to be anyone other than yourself…” he’d say, their hands entwined. This was some intense shit for the serial-dating princess.
When that bitch Monday morning came round, the had prince decided to return home and move out of his stable in a step to change the direction of his life for the princess. And so he left on a quest much more intrepid than fighting dragons and vanquishing witches; to prepare his family for his next bae. So did they live happily ever after?
No, of course they fucking didn’t. He ran outta there quicker than Cinderella five minutes before curfew, and then blocked her on Facebook.
It was like the clock had suddenly struck twelve and all of a sudden and the riches turned back to rags. But a street rat disguised in royal attire isn’t the most unusual scenario. She just hadn’t expected him to change his mind quicker than the colour of Aurora’s dress.
Moral of the story: Everybody needs to fuck a peasant. Not everyone needs to marry one.