This is hilarious!!!
Cinderella: extract from the autobiography of Prince Charles of Windsor.
“Once upon a time…..”
“Oh do be quiet narrator, my turn.”
So hi, I’m Prince Charles of Windsor and until recently I had a major problem. I didn’t have a lady in my life. I mean what if the paparazzi got hold of that info. The Sun would have a field day. “Prince, 18, no Girlfriend” How would that make me look? Yes you’re right a socially deprived loser. But thank God I was saved by this amazing girl Cinderella. So I’ll tell you my story.
By the night of my eighteenth birthday I was worried. Both my brothers had girlfriends, although I’m not sure why any girl would want them, and even my younger 16 year old sisters had boyfriends. But I had no one! I decided to plead with my father for help., ‘To hell with dignity,’ I thought. At long last I persuaded him to help me. He arranged me a birthday disco. At once I ran to prepare the ballroom. Eventually it was finished. The ballroom had newly polished marble floor that was whiter than snow and glass chandeliers that glistened in the evening sky. I also added red velvet curtains emblazoned with the royal crest, (a lion with an escort of knights on horseback.)
“Ah ah ah ah,” I was panting as I ran up the ridiculous amount of stone stairs to my dressing room.
“Now to make myself look handsome!” (well more handsome). I slicked back my dark brown hair and put on my freshly ironed naval blue velvet suit and laced over jacket. My stylist thought the suit and jacket complemented my eyes. I gave up running down the stairs on the 400th and only ran again when I was in view of the bottom.
At quarter to ten, I placed my royal bottom on a chair and leant back against the wall. However by ten to I abandoned this act because the girls who turned up were unbelievably hideous. There was this one pair of girls; on one dress there was an A and on the other a D. I later found their names were Anastasia and Drusilla, hence the A and the D. My god those girls were repulsive and monstrously hideous. It was almost eleven (the closing date for the arrival of guests) and I was slumped in my chair and considering sending them home. Being a bachelor does have some pros I suppose. But then I fell out of my chair. A stunningly pretty young lady walked in wearing diamond encrusted white dress and a golden necklace made from an alloy made from a ruby and an emerald. She had radiant golden locks of hair that glistened in the moonlight. She winked at me and I felt like my heart was melting. Somehow I tore my eyes away from her to look at father. It seemed he had fallen to the floor clutching his face after mother had taken offence to the wolf whistle he had given at the sight of the girl.
Trying not to blush I strode over and asked the girls if she would like to dance.
“Of course,” she giggled to my intense relief. I had been worried that she would refuse. Although why would she come if she didn’t want to dance? We danced all night to tracks by artist from Blur to Beyoncé. I was having so much fun I forgot to ask her one crucial piece of information: her name. (oh and her phone number). Also you know the two girls with letters on their dresses, well on many an occasion I caught them eyeing my mystery girl suspiciously. Only later was I to find out why.
Suddenly the great oak clock began to chime. One, two, three, four. And my mystery girl tore out the room but because of the bombilation in the room she left behind one of her glass slippers. I ran to the door and fell to my knees. Had something gone catastrophically wrong? Had I said something wrong?
The next day I mounted my great steed, sorry I mean of course my subtle bright orange Lamborghini Aventador with gull wing doors. I revved the supercharged v12 engine and went from door to door trying to find whose foot fitted the only remains I had of my mystery girl. I dreaded the journey to the last house for I knew who its residents were: the girls with letters on their dresses. I almost turned around but I’m glad I didn’t because then I would still be despairing. Anyway I quickly got to the point and invited them to try on the shoe. After it obviously didn’t fit, I turned and pressed the button to open the gull wing doors on my lambo but then I heard a voice shout:
“Wait, please could I try on the shoe?” The speaker was a girl I had never seen before. However, I was suspicious because she had a slight resemblance to my mystery girl. I hated having to call her that but I’d been so stupid when I forgot to ask her name. Anyway she tried on the shoe and I banged my head on the lambo. It fitted. It actually fitted! I was over the moon as happy a bunny.
Me and Cinderella (I found out her name) drove back to the manor residence. She told me how her mother had mistreated her and I was fuming. Her mother had basically all but used her as a slave. I immediately phoned the police.
The next day the phone rang
“Helloo,” I said.
“Good morning sir” the officer on the other end said. “We have some information for you concerning Mrs Williams.”
“Ok officer, I’ll be there in five.”
So I hurriedly got dressed and took my Lamborghini out of the garage and sped towards the police station. Annoyingly, there was huge traffic. How I hate the Monday morning rush hour. Anyway the consequences of this were that instead of the five minutes I had promised the officer, it took just shy of half an hour. When I finally got there my jaw dropped Mrs Williams had not counted Cinderella as a family member and therefore had not paid appropriate tax and was now also wanted for tax evasion.
By one o’clock a team of police team mainly made up of cocky 18 year olds was sitting outside the Williams household. A young policeman, one of the 18 year old hotshots, knocked on the door. Drusilla answered.
“Mummy it’s the police.” I was surprised by this mainly because I would have thought that someone of her age would be past calling their mother ‘mummy’. When Mrs Williams answered the police man spoke again:
“Would mademoiselle, care to step outside?” But the second she did she was handcuffed by two officers hiding on either side of the dark brown oak door, and taken into custody.
One month later
I guess my story ends here but I’ll explain how it ended. Well there was a happy ending for most people, but I’ll start with the bad ones: Drusilla and her step father moved far far away (thank god) to Buenos Aires in Argentina. Mrs Williams received 7 years in prison.
Now for my favourite part of the story: the happy endings*. Anastasia, who was usually nice and friendly with Cinderella, came to live with myself and Cinderella at Windsor castle. She also got a beauty counsellor to help her. Finally Cinderella and I lived happily ever after; we were married, and made several tours round Europe and our favourite city in the world: the world centre of fashion and the city of love, Paris.
*Please note happy endings are the favourite part of the character not the author.