The "Ugly" Stepsister Says It's Not True!
Yes, I have big feet. But that’s about the only true thing Cindy wrote in her story. Every story has two sides, don’t you agree? What teenager doesn’t think she’s overworked at home? The truth is Cindy was such a perfectionist, it was easy to get her to do my tasks as well as her own. Let me show you what our home was like a couple of weeks before Cindy met her Prince.
“Whenever mother needs anything done around here, I’m always the one who has to do it,” Cindy complained, stamping her feet.
“That’s not true,” I said. “Didn’t I throw the ice-cream container away yesterday after I’d finished the vanilla fudge?”
Just then I heard mother yelling from the other room, “Cindy, come here and hang out the laundry.”
“See what I mean?” Cindy said. “I don’t want to go outside. My hands will freeze in the cold.” Then she hid behind the dresser.
In a moment mother came in with a basket full of wet linen. “Where is Cindy when I need her!” she said. Then she handed me the basket. “Hang these up on the back line, dear, we can’t have them go moldy.”
“For once you have to do something,” Cindy said.
“Sure I’ll do it, Cindy. I don’t mind getting some fresh air.” Then I took out a chocolate bar which Cindy looked at longingly. “ I have another bar which you can have if you hang up the linen.”
“No,” Cindy said. “Mother asked you.” Then she relented. “For a pack of gum and the chocolate, I’ll do it,” she said.
So you see, it was her choice. Sure, she’s younger than me and easy to bribe. And it is true that by the time she’d finished hanging up the laundry I’d eaten the chocolate-—I was starving! But I do plan to buy her another bar one of these days. And I did give her a pack of gum. Hey, no one’s perfect.
It was said Cinderella was so good and kind her step mother and step sisters hated her. Now, think about that a minute. Does that make any sense to you? First of all, I was the only sister home. Our other sister, Drusilla, was apprenticing to an upholsterer and rented a flat near the shop. So just Cindy and I were left to bicker.
It’s true, Cindy was kind. When she sewed a dress for me, at mother’s insistence, she did a beautiful job. She sincerely wanted me to look my best. But when I tried to get her to sit still so I could alter one of my dresses to fit her, she was fidgety and impatient. Perhaps she disliked the dress. But at the time I thought she was someone who couldn’t sit still.
That’s what we all thought. That’s why her “fairy godmother” told her she had to leave by midnight. She thought Cindy would enjoy the frantic escape. And Cindy did bolt out of that castle when the clock struck twelve. We all chuckled when we saw her fly past. The prince seemed especially impressed by her speed. So was I. But perhaps she really did believe that nonsense about her coach turning into a pumpkin and wanted to follow what she thought were the rules. It wasn’t right that I lied to her.
When I complained about how hard I had to work, Cindy groaned. “You’re going to Beauty School, for goodness sake” Cindy said. How much studying does it take to be a hairdresser?”
“Plenty,” I said. I’d really wanted to be a dancer, but I had no confidence.
I thought at least I could earn a living cutting hair.
“If you’re so miserable washing dishes I’ll do them,” I told her. But here I must be honest. I never did lend Cindy a hand. I told myself I had better things to do with my time. I had to sweat for every passing grade I got. But I could have helped Cindy just a little, perhaps.
Was Cindy at home slaving all the time? No. She was an outdoor girl. She loved running and climbing trees and skating. And she was a great soccer player, scoring more goals than anyone on our road.
“Cindy, you’re going to cripple me,” I shouted as she kicked the ball so hard it ricocheted off my shin.
As I was hopping on one leg holding my injured ankle, she hammered the ball off the crossbar and, diving, she hit the ball with her head into the net. The only thing was, she refused to take off her dresses when she played. She was fond of her ribbons and long flowery skirts but after a while they grew tattered.
Mother would beg Cindy to put on pants when she played soccer but Cindy said she felt like a princess, kicking the ball with her lacy petticoats flying in the wind. Maybe she knew something we didn’t know.
It’s true, Mother was difficult to please. And she did favour us over Cindy. But Cindy was no pleasure for mother either.
I remember going into Cindy’s room and there she was measuring and drawing on a large piece of Bristol Board. “It’s a graph of MOTHER’S FAILINGS,” Cindy said and sure enough those words were printed in block letters at the top of the chart. Later, when mother was preparing our meal, Cindy showed her the chart explaining each point.
“See where the graph is rising. That’s the one time you made something good for dinner, macaroni and cheese. See how it dips and goes down for the rest of the page. That’s when we had corn chowder, three days in a row. Yuck.”
Cindy would not cut short her critique, even as mother sputtered and fumed. The next day, when mother invited friends to dinner, Cindy walked over to the stove and removed the cover from the saucepan.
“Rot in a pot. Again!” Cindy screeched. She made mother frantic.
But Cindy’s father was no fun either. He was always comparing Cindy and me. And it was a joke to see him with Mother. He was so afraid of her, he’d sneak out of the room when she came in.
“He can’t even bear to sit down with her,” Cindy sighed, “how can he stand up to her?”
Sometimes I felt sorry for Cindy. I’d invite her to my room and fix her hair with ribbons, and let her wear my frocks. I remember looking at her one day and being shocked by how beautiful she was. All at once I became angry, as if her good looks took something away from me. But inside every step sister, no matter how jealous, lives a sister who wants an ally, a friend, a kindred spirit.
Jealous as I was at times I preferred to be with Cindy more than anyone else in our house. I wanted her to go to the ball. We all did, even mother, who found the word prince so intoxicating, the thought of having one in the family, even as a stepson, made her sit and catch her breath.
A few weeks before the ball Cindy was fretting. “What do I have to wear?” she complained. When she went upstairs to try on her best dress she came down in a fury.
“This dress is covered with seeds and feathers and droppings,” Cindy gasped as if I were to blame.
All that talk about how birds made her dress is nonsense. I mean let’s be rational. The birds didn’t make her a dress, they made on her dress.
“Cindy,” I explained, “you left the dress on the verandah to air out , what did you expect?” but she still looked at me accusingly.
The day of the ball we had to get Aunt Hetty to come over in that ridiculous Fairy God Mother guise and bring Cindy to the ball in a coach, after we picked up a frock for Cindy from the Salvation Army. Sure we pretended we didn’t know who this gorgeous gal was, but really, would you mistake your own step sister because she was wearing a pretty dress?
“What a lovely dress,” I heard one elegant lady say, pointing to Cindy. “I wonder where she got it?” But of course I didn’t tell.
Let me tell you something about spells that end at midnight. Everything ends. Birthday cakes are eaten. Sunsets fade. Tea gets cold. Pages of a book are turned until eventually you wind up at The End. But if something changes so quickly, if it’s one thing one minute and transformed the next, it can be quite a shock. After the night at the ball Cindy was never quite the same. The prince had fallen in love with her so quickly, she was overwhelmed.
Everyone knows he proposed to Cindy after one dance and a bit of shoe fitting.
“Get to know the guy” I urged. “Let him get to know you.” But some people need to race into things because they fear they might get cold feet if they take the time to think things through. But really who could resist such a proposal? And who wouldn’t want to escape my mother and Cindy’s father?
Satins and ribbons, stockings and slippers, lace and ruffles, it is easy to get lost in these things. Cindy ends her story happy ever after which may be a good place to end, but there’s more to the story.
About a year after Cindy got married the book CINDERELLA came out. I think she wrote it because everyone was tired of hearing her go on and on about her wedding. Mother was always shushing her saying “Yes, yes, dear, it was just like a fairy tale.”
Unfortunately, the book came out about the time I was applying for a job at the local salons and for the life of me no one would hire me. Though none of the owners of the beauty parlors came out and said it, the attitude among the proprietors was “Why would a Bueaty Parlor hire the UGLY STEPSISTER? It would be disastrous for business.”
I was at my wits end, when Drusilla came home, having completed her apprenticeship in upholstery, and we decided to go into business together. We called our enterprise SLOW WOMAN’S UPHOLSTERERS and let me tell you, we were slow. Our motto was “We take twice as long as any upholsterer and we guarantee our work is half as good. ”
We used to work late when the lights were too dim to see by, and when we were almost out of material and thread and pins. This really stretched our creative skills and gave us quite a reputation. You could always count on us if you didn’t want something done on time, or if you wanted that half-completed look.
After his wife died, the king actually hired us, in one of his more impractical moments, to upholster his throne.
“But you’re taking an awfully long time,” he said to me after months and months. “Better replace the throne with that loveseat you have in your shop. Aye, but it’s no good sitting on a loveseat alone, my lass,” he continued. “Would you be doing me the honour now of marrying me and becoming the Queen.” His Scottish accent was thrilling.
Reader, I didn’t marry him. But I moved in. He really is quite a jolly man and good hearted. I told him there were a few things thing I wanted to do if I were his Queen: give dance lessons and ballets classes at the castle. And I wanted to have many balls. He was all for it.
Cindy said a lot of things in the book that weren’t true. But there is one thing she said that is true and I have to come clean about it. I have big feet. This embarrassed me in grade school when I was tall and skinny, and my feet stuck out so far I looked like the letter L. For years I wore shoes too small for me and was in constant pain as I staggered around. No more. I wear size ten sneakers now and I’m comfortable. I want to make clear that when the servant knocked on our door with that lovely glass slipper resting on a plump pillow, it was the slipper I wanted, not the prince. I’d seen the other one in Cindy’s room and I thought, “if only I could fit into these!” But Cindy knew my big feet were a sore point for me. If I saw my sister putting her size ten foot into a size five shoe, I think I’d just keep quiet about it, wouldn’t you?
My mother and step father can come and go freely from the castle, but they rarely visit. I don’t think they like the noise Cindy’s children make and Cindy has three. I always thought Cindy would have the perfect little princess, but in fact she has three strapping boys, each with a great sense of humour. They’re always pulling practical jokes, frogs in the bed, ants on the rug, spiders in the underwear drawer, what have you. I love looking at their faces with their mischievous eyes, their big ears, their roguish smiles, their buck teeth. Every time we have a banquet they’re the life of the party. Though I do wish they wouldn’t ride their motorcycles over the palace grounds.
I’m living in the castle now and the King treats me like a Queen. I spend my time giving dance lessons. I’m quite well known. I’ve even taught Cindy’s sons. When they practice their plies, they show great promise. I’m the one who had a daughter. A little princess. And what a dancer she is.
One last thing. Why is the word ugly always attached to my name and used like a curse? I mean, aren’t looks supposed to be superficial? Besides, my husband says he can stare at my face for hours, it has real character. As for Cindy, he says, “The girl can’t dance for beans.”
My king loves a good reel and promenade.
“Step lively,” he tells me when we’re doing a jig at one of the Palace dances. “For a stepsister, stepping is important,” he laughs. As for my big feet, “they help you stand firmly on the ground, my dear,” he says as he lifts me up and kisses me and swings me round and round.
Carole Glasser Langille has been nominated for The Governor General’s Award in Poetry, The Atlantic Poetry Prize, The Alistair MacLeod Award for Short Fiction and her first children’s book was selected for “Our Choice Award” by the Canadian Children’s Book Centre.