A Bedtime Fairy Tale

Back in the day, (this would be 1992) Josie's mother stamped her foot, and made a wish in anger. Some passing Fairy heard her, and took her at her word. One of Josie's brothers sneaked out of the house in the wee hours a week later, stole a car and killed himself running from the cops. Our Princess was almost sixteen, he was almost fourteen.

Curiouser and curioser- her sister went gray overnight, and dyed her hair ever after. But Josie stopped growing altogether. For 13 years.

Our Princess had many adventures and many mishaps during that time. Her age and her gender were pretty ambiguous, so she could be who she wished when she wanted, for what suited the moment. One day, in her latest fit of "Ima Not Doin' That"(these are frequent), she walked out of where she was and into a rather chemical smelling fishpond.

Our Princess was not familiar with fishponds. Or the frogs that live there- she's kind of a Hill & Ridge type. But there was a frog, a large frog sitting quite close and Josie was always curious about why people choose to live where they do.

"You could give me a hand, you know. I'm, er, actually quite the Prince," said the frog.
"I'm not sure I'm really it," said Josie. "You see, I'm not much of a Princess. And I'm not very pretty. Now the one coming behind me? She's got a Unicorn even."
The frog shrugged. "Well, then do me a favor and scratch behind my ear, wouldya? This flipper bit is killing me."

Without realizing frogs don't have ears, she cheerfully leaned over...and there was some confusion, as frogs don't have lips either. Our intrepid amphibian made use of what he had, and the rest was, simply put, history.

Dogs miaowed, cats barked, mirrors cracked, and that Fairy who had been holding the hands on Josie's clock let them go. The frog remained very much a frog, but the rest of the world ash she knew it was...gone.

The comfortable place that she'd known, where there were plans to buy a house with someone she loved deeply, evaporated. The life path she'd mapped out so carefully, had disappeared without a trace. Plans years in the making, gone up in smoke. And what can one say at almost 30?

"Sorry, I didn't realize. I mean, I kissed a frog."

There was more.

Food that used to land on her lap didn't make it- it landed on a shelf between her chin and navel that hadn't been there before. People she'd equated with good sense and discernment and bitchin' power tools, would now carry on an entire conversation with her calves. There was now padding to sit down on, and eyes that used to meet hers lingered on the food spots between her chin and navel. As a crowning indignity, her hair curled one night after a bad day at work.

What the hell was this place? No one wanted to work with power tools, but they told her her hair looked good. No one wanted to go shooting or go fishing or build Draino Bombs, but they liked her pants.

Our heroine, sitting on the bank of the rather chemical smelling fishpond (with a smug looking frog), unable to go back where she came from but not able to fathom the rules for where she's at now. Writing practical messages to herself in the mud:

Don't one-up other people's knife fight stories even if yours is better
Not everyone is straightforward and honest
Let people help you sometimes

We'll leave her there for now.