Everybody thinks Dopey is so damn cute. Oh sure, he’s a peach. Take him. Please.
You know what’s not fair? I really got stuck with seven kids.
Now, it’s like I’m eighth in line and always have to pick up the morning after.
The laundry pile is never not a pile, and the dishes stacked on the table are stained with dried quail egg.
The floor has muddy prints in the dust, and I haven’t had someone sit me down in front of the fire and rub my shoulders since …well…ever.
I don’t even want to go into the stinky boy smell I can’t beat out of my clothes. The washing stone smells better. And the meals I prepare: lightning bug soup and woodchuck surprise, tadpole poppers and snake loin, I could go on and on. But every night someone's gotta ask why I didn’t make this or how come there’s no that? You know I’ve been thinking that iron skillet could really do some damage to a midget.
You know what, there aren’t any Prince Charmings, and if there are, mine’s stuck in traffic.
No, I would be so lucky. Mine probably doesn’t have a carriage...or a job.
Hell, my Prince Charming is probably walking his lazy ass to my house right now so I can go do all this for him. I should just kill myself.
Maybe I’ll go get some of those apples.
What, you think I didn’t know it was the witch?