The Saga of Stinky Beauty: A Hygenic Fairytale

****Editor's note:  This is a family favorite dedicated to our lovely princess, Cara.

Once upon a time, in a land far away there was a beautiful princess who lived in a tall and glorious castle.  She had golden ringlet curls, a lovely, sparkly crown, and twenty-three fancy ball gowns.  She lived an enchanted, privileged life. However, the princess had one shortcoming that thwarted her hopes of a 'happily ever after'.  She hated to take a bath.  She had an enourmous claw-footed bathtub with scented salts and flower petals, but she hated to take a bath.  One day, as a young lady, she decided to stop taking baths.  It was then that the people in the village began to call their beloved princess 'Stinky Beauty'.

There were many handsome princes around in those days, and many wanted a chance to woo the beautiful and wealthy princess.  Winning her hand would be a prize for any young prince, so the palace was regularly full of these hopeful lads, polished in their best attire, wearing the finest stockings, riding the whitest of chargers (not in the palace, though, that was against the rules).  One lucky young prince was talented enough and qualified enough to pass the King's multi-faceted daughter-dating examination.  He was granted an audience with the fair maiden.  The guard opened the door with a strange salute.  In his kingdom, the guards held their hands above the eyebrow, but for some reason the custom here seemed to be over their noses.  He thought this was very curious, indeed.  He walked into the princess's sitting room and gazed on her in wonder.  She was wearing one of her finest silken ball gowns.  She was loveliness indeed!  He skipped lightly to her chair, leaning into a deep bow.  As he anxiously raised his torso to smile at his future bride, a wave of smell came over him.

He paused.  His muscles stiffened, his eyes bulged, his knees knocked, and he uttered, "OOOOh, stinky,stinky, stinky!"  He then made a hasty escape, never to darken her door again.

Another young prince experienced the same acceptance, the same anticipation, the same trek past the oddly saluting guards.  She was wearing pink that day.  He entered the room with a serenade, walking toward the lovely damsel as he sang.  He neared her chair just as he began the chorus, but instead of singing his sweetest song, he took a deep breath.  He paused.  His muscles stiffened, his eyes bulged, his knees knocked, and he sang a soprano rendition of, "OOOOh, stinky, stinky, stinky!" and made his hasty escape.

The princess was worried.  Why had the princes left so swiftly?  She felt a little insulted and anxious.  What if she couldn't get married to the man of her dreams until she was old?  She was already seventeen...time was running out.

She decided to take a walk through the village to clear her mind.  She donned her stunning crown, looked her best in  a gown of burgundy, and meandered through the main street.  For some reason, the commoners who loved her so kept disappearing shortly after she smiled in their direction.  They hid themselves in their homes and buildings and wouldn't do much beyond a curtsey and scurry.  She walked through the rest of the deserted street and saw an old man sitting alone at a chess board.  She sat across from him, appreciating his smiling, not-quite-all-there face.  She did not realize that the man's olfactery skills had been permanently damaged due to the over-ingestion of coffee.

"Kind sir,"  she began.  "I am searcing the village for a wise person to give me some advice."

He nodded and smiled in his half-witted way.

She continued, "I want to marry a handsome prince.  They seem excited to see me, then when they get close they run off and never come back.  Can you help me, my friend of reduced circumstances?".

The man said with his squeaky old voice, "I think Farmer Jenkins got a skunk caught in his wagon again.  It sure does stink, heh?".

This stellar unintentional advice was all the charming girl needed.  She ran to the palace with purpose.  She entered her lovely suite, loaded the bath with salts and flowers and jumped in.  She scrubbed her hair, she scrubbed her body, she brushed her teeth, and especially scrubbed and exfoliated her disgusting man feet.  She dressed with a glow about her, and awaited the arrival of the next fortunate young man.

He came, and saw not a stinky beauty, but a striking beauty.  He cried, "Hot diggity, y'all are the most beautifulerest girl I ever seed!".  He was a prince from the Southern provence of Hill.  His name was William the Younger, but his constituents called him Hill Billy.  And that's where we get the modern English word, of course.  He proposed rapidly, as was the custom in those days.  She accepted and they united the kingdom in sweet smelling harmony.

The moral of this story, my princesses, is to always take care to take a bath.  No beauty can mask a foul smelling foot odor.  Wait, come to think of it, this isn't really a saga, but more of a fable.

Chore Time

It's chore time in our house.  The big kids have several things to do every morning, but my son has a definite favorite.  He LOVES to clear the table.  Do you know why?  Because he loves to eat.  Yes, my never-full, meat-loving little man loves to act as a garbage disposal after eating his breakfast.  He manfully stuffs every last morsel left by Mom or Cara into his already full mouth.  This is gross and shocking, I know.  I'm a terrible Mom to let things like this go on.  The truth is, though, I'm somewhat satisfied with his improvements.  It wasn't too long ago that we'd find him grazing the floors after every meal, the human vaccuum cleaner.  It was kind of like having a dog.  There are times when I worry how on earth I will get him house trained enough to get married some day.  But mostly I wonder how we'll be able to pay our mortgage when he has a teenager appetite.

Word of the Week

In honor of my little one, whom we call Allie...
                        
alliaceous:[al-ee-ey-shuhs]  Characteristic of or resembling garlic.

Resembling garlic?  What resembles garlic other than garlic?

Hmmm...

How about this...

"Much to Lucinda's horror, when she peered into the mirror on the morning of her interview, the largest, most alliaceous pimple she had ever seen was staring back."

Or here's another one...

"She would recognize her father-in-law's alliceous breath anywhere."

Anyone out there have another alliaceous suggestion?

My Humble Suggestion for Gitmo...

Forget the waterboarding down at Gitmo, Mr. President.  I say to make terrorists talk, we begin using this...

A good, old-fashioned corset.



This could really solve some national security problems!  Besides the humiliation of wearing pink rosettes and ribbons, the terrorists will develop a mortifying womanly figure.

Can you imagine sweating in the hot Cuban sun in one of these?   Bowing toward Mecca will never be the same.

I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure between wearing a corset and willfully withholding chocolate, I'd blab every bit of information I'd ever come across.

A Poem for My Laundry Pile

Is there a companion so steady, so loyal
   So constant amid life's stress
   As my laundry is to me?

No friend on earth is so unwavering,
   always growing, as the mound
   upon which I dwell so continually.
  
Who is she that is eternally there?
   Of whom do I think when I rise
   And when I sleep?

She's there, you know, she'll ne'er be gone.
   Waiting to greet the lonely soul.
   My heap and I shall never part.

As sure as the sun and moon and stars,
   as faithful as the waves of the sea.
   My laundry pile won't leave me.

I know I have a friend, an unrelenting friend
   Through life's sorrows and joys
   and cleaning mounds of toys.

I have a fixed companion that ever clings to me.
   A most allegiant and resolute connection,
   That large enbankment of  laundry.
  
 

Treacherous Waters, Part 7

Barbara sat gazing dreamily into her mirror as she twirled her blonde curls between her fingers.  She couldn't believe it could be true.  It was actually her last date, er, lesson with Heathcliff.  She sighed, then began to capture the reckless curls into a low bun.  The room began to darken and Barbara moved to the window just in time to see the storm begin.  She opened the window to let the fresh rain scent take over her bedroom.  She sighed again.  The calm rain seemed like a mirror to her as well.  It reflected the sad, steady dread she had about finishing his lessons.  She wasn't sure how it happened, but she loved being with him, loved having a project to work on, loved not having dinner with Jeffrey in front of the big screen television.  She was really going to miss Heath when he began his dating in earnest.  She sighed a third time, then decided to dress.  She chose a pale pink silky blouse and white starched pants.  Heathcliff always liked  a sharp crease.  She paused, returning to the mirror to pin two lovely daisies to her bun.  He had sent them early, knowing her girlish passion for wearing flowers in her hair. 

She was ready when the doorbell rang.  They smiled at each other.  She took the arm he offered her and held it close.  As they drove to the lakeside restaurant, she listened to him, gazed at him, and politely didn't notice the overuse of cologne.  She should have taken out her floral notebook to mark the offense.  After all, this was his final exam and the stakes were high for him, but her heart wasn't in being critical tonight.  She took no joy in jotting down his faults as she once did.  In actuality, he had few faults to notate.  Heathcliff had always been a model student, and he had adjusted himself to fit her model of masculinity with ease.

They had arrived.  He smiled at her and held every door.  He chose this restaurant not only for the elegant seared duck breast specialty, her favorite rare treat, but for the strikingly beautiful view of the lake.  They talked and ate at a leisurely pace and Heathcliff didn't check his watch even one time.  Just as they finished the raspberry truffle cake, the musicians he had hired gathered for a serenade.  It was downright artful.  She began to tear up at the beauty of the moment, and the gentleman took her by the hand.  They stood together as the music began.  She smiled.  She had never thought of herself as a fantastic dancer, but to tango with Heathcliff was enough to make anyone feel like a star.  He was tall, stood up straight, and wasn't socially conscious enough to be embarrased.  It was incredibly fun.  She began to laugh when the other diners applauded.

He suggested a walk along the damp boardwalk now that the drizzle had come to an end.  Naturally, she agreed.  They walked close together, smelling the earthy wetness of the wood beneath them, admiring the smoothness of the lake.  They paused, leaning against a railing, to watch the sun set.  They were quiet as the subtle oranges first kissed the waters of the lake.  In a moment, those waters returned the burning color with fervor.  Barbara turned to Heathcliff.

"Heath," she began softly.  "I think this has been the best date of my entire life."  He looked at her, surprise showing in his eyes.

"You really thought everything was adequate?" he asked as he turned to face her.

She smiled softly. "Absolutely.  Nothing could have been more lovely.  It was romantic, it was thoughtful, it was meaningful, it was..." she stared into his eyes, "perfect.  You are perfect."  She felt defeated for some reason.  She continued, "I have no doubt that you could get any girl to marry you now."  Her tears began their lonesome trail down her blushing cheeks.  She knew it was time to make the final break.

He reached for her hand.  "But, I don't want just any girl.  I want you, my helper, my friend, my love."  She rushed to him, her soft tears dripping onto his shoulder. 

Heathcliff whispered to her, "Barbara, marry me and help me all my days."  She managed to croak out an affirmative answer before the next round of grateful tears began.  He held her happily sniffing the time away.  After a few minutes, while still holding his lovely sweetheart, he began to maneuver his wrist up to eye level.  The sleeve of his tan suit coat covered his watch.  He tenderly extended his arm again, shifting the material free of the watch's face.  He peered with caution, then began to smile broadly, quietly, with Barbara's head still on his shoulder.  He felt supremely satisfied. It was exactly 11:59 pm on May 15.

"I can't believe it!" Heathcliff whispered excitedly.  He was in love...and right on schedule.

For those of You with a little Fru-fru in your soul...

I have to say, I'm not much of a girlie girl.  Pink and I have been on questionable terms for the past few years, but every now and then, I go back to my little girl roots.  Have you ever seen the artwork of Degas?  Here are a few examples (eat your heart out, Cara!).

 I love the semi-translucency of the skirt in this picture.  Also roses...what woman doesn't love roses?

I think the coloring on this skirt is really interesting.  Looks feathery, doesn't it?  I think it's interesting how much focus and detail he put into the skirt and how little he put into the actual girl.  The contrast really draws your eye.

Eeeek!  I think this one came straight out of my daughter's dream from last night!  Dressing like that would be my worst nightmare, and her greatest delight.

This was actually painted later, but I prefer the depth of the pencil sketch.  I especially like the shading around the shoulders and back...looks so delicate.

I'll occasionally have some more layman's art reviews.  This was my attempt to make my scrub-a-dub Mommy lifestyle a tad more couture.  Sometimes I eat Belgian chocolate, too.

images courtesy of Wikigallery.org