Politically Correct Bedtime Stories Read Free Page A

of the blame, they joined the others in a whirling ball of hair, hooves, horns, and teeth. But the little bridge was not built to carry such weight. It shook and swayed and finally buckled, hurling the troll and the three codependent goats Gruff into the chasm. On their way down, they each felt relieved that they would finally get what they deserved, plus, as a bonus, a little extra guilt for the fate of the others.

RAPUNZEL
    here once lived an economically disadvantaged tinker and his wife. His lack of material accomplishment is not meant to imply that all tinkers are economically marginalized, or that if they are, they deserve to be so. While the archetype of the tinker is generally the whipping person in classic bedtime stories, this particular individual was a tinker by trade and just happened to be economically disadvantaged.
    The tinker and his wife lived in a little hovel next to the modest estate of a local witch. From their window, they could see the witch’s meticulously kept garden, a nauseating attempt to impose human notions of order onto Nature.
    The wife of the tinker was pregnant, and as she gazed at the witch’s garden, she began to crave some of the lettuce she saw growing there. She begged the tinker to jump the fence and get some for her. The tinker finally submitted, and at night he jumped the wall and liberated some of the lettuce. But before he could get back, the witch caught him.
    Now, this witch was very kindness-impaired. (This is not meant to imply that all, or even some, witches are that way, nor to deny this particular witch her right to express whatever disposition came naturally to her. Far from it, her disposition was without doubt due to many factors of her upbringing and socialization, which, unfortunately, must be omitted here in the interest of brevity.)
    As mentioned earlier, the witch was kindness-impaired, and the tinker was extremely frightened. She held him by the scruff of the neck and asked, ‘Where are you going with my lettuce?’
    The tinker might have argued with her over the concept of ownership and stated that the lettuce rightfully ‘belonged’ to anyone who was hungry and had nerve enough to take it. Instead, in a degrading spectacle, he pleaded for mercy. ‘It was my wife’s fault,’ he cried in a characteristically male manner. ‘She is pregnant and has a craving for some of your lovely lettuce. Please spare me. Although a single-parent household is certainly acceptable, please don’t kill me and deprive my child of a stable, two-parent family structure.’
    The witch thought for a moment, then let go of the tinker’s neck and disappeared without a word. The tinker gratefully went home with the lettuce. A few months later, and after agonizing pain that a man will never really be able to appreciate, the tinker’s wife gave birth to a beautiful, healthy prewommon. They named the baby Rapunzel, after a type of lettuce.
    Not long after this, the witch appeared at their door, demanding that they give her the child in return for the witch’s having spared the tinker’s life in the garden. What could they do? Their powerless station in life had always left them open to exploitation, and this time they felt they had no alternative. They gave Rapunzel to the witch, who sped away.
    The witch took the child deep into the woods and imprisoned her in a tall tower, the symbolism of which should be obvious. There Rapunzel grew to wommonhood. The tower had no door or stairs, but it did boast a single window at the top. The only way for anyone to get to the window was for Rapunzel to let down her long, luxurious hair and climb it to the top, the symbolism of which should also be obvious.
    The witch was Rapunzel’s only companion. She would stand at the foot of the tower and shout,

    ‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,
    ‘That I might climb your golden stair.’

    Rapunzel obediently did as she was told. Thus for years she let her body be exploited for the