Cinders

I woke up this morning feeling emotionally bruised. Sort of the way you feel after a bad headache or migraine – you’re not in pain, but you feel the pain right on the edge of your consciousness. It may come back, it may not, but its shadow lingers throughout the day… Taunting and threatening.

The day has got better as it has gone on. It has been a long day–washing and cleaning and cooking and tending the fire.

I appreciate that description is very Cinderella-esque but it’s true nonetheless. Apart from the housework, the fact that I can sing and have much-loved, much-missed father, the similarities end. I’m not young, not beautiful and have three children. And a full time job. Ironically, in fact, I’d actually be classed as one of the ugly sisters of a sort – I am the eldest of Dad’s second marriage. He was my biogical father too though, which my elder half siblings still can’t accept 39 years later. With Dad’s passing, the gloves have come off for one of them in particular.

I know that this is not unusual. When someone dies, emotions rip those small tears in to huge, gaping chasms. Now time has passed, I’m surprisingly more at peace with it. No, it’s just that I don’t care anymore. Their absence will never, ever compare to the absence of my dad. Ever.

It just so happens that Cinderella is my favourite fairy story. I always wanted that transformation for myself. For people to see my ‘beauty’; when my ordinary-ness was hidden. It has actually happened a few times, of sorts, one particularly memorable time with Lost Soul. He actually did a double take.

And, in a not entirely planned twist, I’ve actually watched two Cinderella films this weekend, Kenneth Brannagh’s version and Slipper and the Rose. I love both, just as I love the Disney version and Ever After.

So, if there is a handsome Prince or a Fairy Godmother out there, I am perfectly happy to be your Cinderella. It’s about time my dreams came true. And I’m not greedy, either one of you will do wonderfully.

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