Mirror, Mirror

It’s the lack of manners upsets me most.  I never get a ‘good morning’ or a ‘how are you?’  It’s always “Mirror, mirror on the wall….”

Of course I’m on the wall.  A heavy chain and some hefty nails make sure of that.  They aren’t interested in me.  No one ever compliments me on the carved wood of my frame or says ‘wow, have you been polished?”  They only want to know one thing – where they rank in the fairyland beauty leagues.  They have no imagination.  They must be able to say something other than “…who is the fairest of them all?”

As if I’m going to tell them what I really think.  It can be tough, but I always try to find something positive to say.  Not because I care about how the silly self-obsessed creatures feel.  I can’t risk someone getting upset enough to start throwing things.  I’m made of glass.  I’d never recover if someone smacked me in the face with a hairbrush.

I was chatting with Cinderella’s glass slippers the other day.  The one who stayed on her foot is too smug for words, but I really feel for the other one.  She was convinced she was going to shatter when those big ugly sisters tried to stuff their fat feet inside her.  And she still hasn’t got rid of the bloodstains.  Fortunately, since their mother chopped their feet about, it’s harder for them to hobble up to the castle.  I dread telling them their league status.

Uh oh.  Here comes the little girl with the scarlet cloak.  Well, not so little any more.  She’s a stroppy teenager now.  Since that incident in the woods with her granny and the wolf, she’s started carrying an axe in her basket.  Someone should tell her that red isn’t her colour, but it won’t be me.