It was around the third margarita that Cinderella relized her fairytale was over. Ofcourse it should have been obvious. When your prince runs off with the french maid, thanks Belle, there’s really not much one can do. The castle was repossesed and the gowns had been sold off. She had tried to get in touch with her fairy godmother but the old woman refused to answer e-mail and her cell phone was apparently disconnected. Luckily Snow White had offered her a place to stay while she got back on her feet.

“I don’t believe in that happily ever after nonsense anymore,” she murmured as the bar tender poured her a scotch.

“Uh huh,” he replied

“Princes are bad news. They’re always charming to begin with, but eventually they leave you for someone younger and blonder” She gulped down her drink

There was no getting around it. Her carriage was now definitely a pumpkin and pretty soon it would be pie. She would have to get herself out of this. But she felt so cynical

Maybe I should go into comedy she thought