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Schizophrenic Cinderella (As told by Lenny, the lizard from the Bronx.)
It all started one Saturday night. There I was, sitting in my little edge of the windowsill. It is my favorite place to be, after all. Basking in the sun like all lizards do. Ahh, how peaceful.
Anyway, I’m just sitting calmly on my windowsill when my schizophrenic housemate (she thinks there’s three ugly women living with her) decides that she needs to start frantically cleaning the house in order to go to some ball this dude with a wig came to inform her of.
See, her mother died when she was just a little girl. Then, as a teenager, her father passed away, too. She had no other family or friends to take care of her, so she stayed at home. I think she might’ve gone a bit batty; she started seeing these 3 women. A step-mother and two ugly step-sisters. Really, I’ve tried talking it over with her. Sweetie, you should get some help! I say. You have schizophrenia.!
But, no, she just runs screaming. “TALKING LIZARD! TALKING LIZARD!” Oh, dollface, that’s the least of your problems.
So she starts mumbling to herself, writing out a list of chores to do. “Fireplace. Floors. Sink. Dishes. Laundry,” she sighs. She does this every time she has something better to do.
All of a sudden she’s sprinting around like a madwoman, making beds that no one sleeps in and doing dishes no one’s dirtied. This goes on for 3 whole days!
I figured it would be like the New Year’s party of 1899, so I stretched out on my windowsill and closed my eyes, ready for a month-long nap. But then… POOF! Some sparkly broad shows up in the kitchen! Talking some nonsense about beautiful on the inside, beautiful on the outside. To be perfectly honest, I think her clothes look like dirty diapers and her face a bucket of mud.
Anyway, she tells Cinderella to go get 4 mice, a pumpkin, and… Oh, no. A lizard. Cinderella fetches the supplies necessary for this intruder to turn her into some dancing goddess and brings us all back into the kitchen. Half-awake and dazed, I barely notice her changing the mice into horses and the pumpkin into a carriage.
All of a sudden this whackjob is stabbing me with this golden chopstick and I’m transforming into a person! I feel like Optimus Prime! But, hey, the view was pretty nice up there, so I went with it.
After a quick wardrobe change and a masochistic choice of footwear, we’re on our way. Why this “fairy godmother” couldn’t have chosen a licensed carriage driver is beyond me, but I digress.
We (barely) make it to the ball and Cinderella is off like a bat outta hell. Sure, I’m a curious guy, so I decide to test out these new legs and see what’s going on inside. Cinderella enters quietly, and all eyes are on her. She wouldn’t get that kind of attention with the ashy face she usually sports. The prince catches her eye and she strolls on over. They dance the night away with only a few creepy side comments by Cinderella, including, but not limited to, “Stop hogging all the ham sandwiches and chocolates, you fat pigs.”
And then she remembers the warning from the trespassing lunatic: “My magic ends at midnight.” The clock strikes twelve and Cinderella is out of there! I sprint after her and jump into the carriage, hoping not to get caught. We drive home, only allowing time to stop for a Slushie from the Circle K before returning on our way home.
And now it’s the next morning. The prince is here, asking for her hand in marriage because she could fit her foot in some death-trap of a shoe she seems to have left behind. I guess he kind of took a liking to her on account of her sweet dance moves. I taught her the washing machine.
It seems to me that she’s saying yes. Wait. She’s saying yes?! She’s leaving me for some self-important pretty boy she just met last night?
I guess now it’s just me, the mice, and a perfectly clean house from here on out. I should have moved in with the dwarf with multiple personality disorder and his girlfriend with OCD. It’s exhausting trying to keep up with the relatives in Cinderella’s head.