The Stepsister Speaks Out

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The Stepsister Speaks Out

It isn’t easy being the ugly stepsister. Everybody always feels so sorry for poor little Cinderella, but what about me? I deserve a little sympathy, too. A lot of people think I’m jealous of her. Maybe I am. And with good reason. I subsisted on seven hundred calories a day for three whole weeks before the ball. I did my leg-lift exercises faithfully. I got a perm and a facial and a manicure. I even bought a new gown, blue velvet, designer label! I mean, I was ready! Princey, I thought, here I come. And what happens? Little Cindy, who has never seen the inside of a health club in her life, whips together a dress out of some old curtains from K-Mart, waltzes off to the ball, and snags the prince. It isn’t fair! It really isn’t fair!

They’ll Be Sorry When I’m Dead

It’s awful stuffy up here in the attic. I should have brought a pillow and something to read. I wonder if they’ve missed me yet. Probably not. I haven’t heard anyone calling. Well, they’ll be sorry. They’ll think back to all the times they were mean to me and they’ll wish they could do it differently. But it’ll be too late then.

It wasn’t my fault that I got tar all over my new white coat. All I did was wear it to school and in order to get to school I had to walk across the street, and I couldn’t help it that the city decided to put fresh tar on the street today. I was afraid of getting the tar on my shoes, so I ran across the street instead of walking. How was I supposed to know that this would make the tar fly up on my feet and get all over the back of my new white coat? I don’t think it’s fair that I got punished for something I couldn’t help, just because Mom told me not to wear the coat to school. Well. She’ll be sorry when I’m gone. She’ll cry and be lonesome for me.

Wait a minute. I smell spaghetti. That’s my favorite. I’m starved. It IS awfully stuffy up here. Oh heck --- Coming mom.

Day of Liberation

This is the happiest day of my life. No prisoner ever yearned for freedom more than I yearned for mine. No iron bars have ever been more confining than the ones I just escaped. I’ve been behind them for two years. Two years! For two long, excruciating years, I haven’t even been allowed to chew a stick of gum.

Today I am reborn! Oh, when I think of all the food I’ve missed in the last two years. My family has a garden and late in the summer my mother always cooks corn-on-the-cob. Those sweet juicy ears of corn are consumed with lots of butter and a dash of salt. Only they weren’t consumed by me. Not last year or the year before. Today is different! Today I can eat anything I want. I may eat corn-on-the-cob for breakfast! I could sing and shout. I could dance in the streets. I love everyone in the entire world, even my little brother. I can laugh again, not just smile politely. So bring on the corn! Pass me some gum friends. Here I am, world, without the metal. Today, I got my braces off!

There’s a Golf ball in that Tree

I live near a golf course. I don’t play golf , but I like to go for walks on the course in the evening when most of the golfers have gone home. There are lots of trees and green grass and a little stream that crisscrosses back and forth. In the summer, I pick wild blackberries from the bushes that grow near the fence. I find a lot of golf balls on my walks. At first I didn’t’ know what to do with them. Then I got the idea of hiding the golf balls and seeing how long it takes before someone finds them. I carry a notebook with me and when I hide a golf ball, I write down the date and where I hid it and then, each time I go for a walk, I check if the ball has been found them.

I’ve hidden them in lots of places, but my favorite places are in the trees. Not on the ground underneath, but IN the tree. I’ll put a shiny white golf ball in the crook of a tree. People who hit their balls into the trees go looking for them with their eyes on the ground. One ball stayed in the tree for 27 days. That’s my record, so far, 27 days. I’ve always wished I could be there when one of my balls is discovered. I like to imagine the person gets all excited and calls out, “Hey, look at this! There’s a golf ball in that tree! Isn’t that crazy!” And then everyone laughs and when they get home they tell their families how they found a golf ball stuck in a tree. The people who originally lost their golf balls were probably unhappy about it. I hope one of them finds a golf ball in a tree someday!

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