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LAce Posted Monday, July 25th, 2011
The Wedding: Snow White
Beate Sigriddaughter

I'm not out of the woods yet. Those brambles were nothing. That hissing and howling and hooting at night—nothing compared with my stunned innocence.

I dreamed, like all girls, of my dance in white satin, never this: at my wedding celebration my unsuccessfully scheming stepmom is condemned to dance to her death on heated iron slippers. They are bringing them in now with smoking tongs.

Someone hands me a glass. I take it with my habitual champagne grace. I am confused here. Am I to gloat and triumph and rejoice?

No wonder prince charming didn't take our dance lessons seriously. He knew I wouldn't be so keen on dancing ever after. Am I to enjoy my wedding night with this orgy of vengeance still fresh on my mind?

It's not that I condone eating your stepchild's liver and heart, or poisoning the competition. I don't condone competition in the first place, the greedy marketing of mirrors, selling seductive beauty at any price, and then condemning the loser to a blistering death.

Here are my choices. Gloat and rejoice, dilute myself with drink or Disney bliss, or stand up to my true self at last, white as a sheet, or my dress, oh, yes, or snow. I clink the side of my glass,
at least no longer a coffin. That's something.

The princess wishes to speak. This wedding is cancelled until we find a better way. Every woman's dishonor diminishes me.

Comments [post a comment]

Posted by Chris MK [ jheekbijuri@gmail.com ] on Wednesday, February 15th, 2012 at 6:43 PM
This is beautiful Beate. You bring out so poignantly the pain and violence entailed in the breaking and forging of relationships. The acknowledgement of that pain is the door to compassion and the building of new unities.



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