I learned something deeply disturbing about myself while Piper was here and I’ve been debating whether to spill it.
Well, okay. That’s a total lie. I didn’t debate it for one teensy-weensy moment. And it’s worse than being the liar I just proved myself to be.
Ready?
Here it is:
I am an unfit aunt.
And before you protest, “Oh, no, Tracey; you’re a great aunt” because you guys are nice that way, hear me out. Allow me to prove my incompetence. My unfitness. My complete and utter boobery. Okay?
Piper arrived late Easter afternoon. We painted, played games, watched a movie, etc. We talked about how she wants to be a designer. “But I wouldn’t use animal fur.” Okay. Good to know. Don’t wear my chinchilla wrap around Piper. Got it.
So it’s bedtime and she’s laying her sleeping bag on the “balloon bed” (aka the inflatable mattress). Her stuffed animals are then lovingly crammed into the sack before she climbs in on top of them. She’s very ritualistic about how she crams them in, the order in which they are crammed, and precisely how she slides in on top of the poor crammed animals. I offer to help her, but she’s got a system, you see. I get out my childhood fairy tale book, the one with the cover held in place by the merest molecules of decades-old masking tape. “Wow. That’s old, Tee Tee.” “Yep. It’s from the last century,” I say in a hushed tone. She smiles and watches as I flip the huge pages to find the story I’m going to read her. One of my favorites when I was a kid.
It’s called Donkeyskin.
Now ….
As much as I remember loving this story, I seem to have forgotten, in the yellow haze of age, some basic truths about the story of Donkeyskin.
The first of which being the fact that, as the story progresses, a donkey skin plays a pivotal part.
The second one being the fact that the title of the story, DONKEYSKIN, writ large above the story in a huge decorative font, might have offered the reader a clue as to the first fact.
However, it would appear that the yellow haze of age has also taken with it things like reading comprehension because I sit there and look at the title of the story, the title that basically screams DONKEYSKIN!! and do not comprehend what that could possibly mean or imply. I can’t say that I didn’t see it — the yellow haze of age hasn’t taken that yet — but it just didn’t register. It was a blip, a dot, a non-issue.
I forge ahead, eager to share a childhood favorite with my niece.
The basic setup for Donkeyskin is this: Handsome king and beautiful queen have a beautiful daughter and a magic donkey that poos gold. The beautiful queen falls deathly ill, and in a final beautifully bitchy act, makes the handsome king promise never to marry again unless he finds a woman as beautiful and virtuous as she. Beautiful queen dies happy — haha! — because she knows he will never ever find a woman like her. All manipulative and perfect and such.
So I’m reading along and ….. oh.
Hm.
Guess what?
Seems the handsome king searches far and wide for a replacement wife who matches the dead wife’s criteria. He comes up with bupkis.
So… as the story goes …. the lonely king decides … and I’d forgotten this through the yellow haze of age ….
“The only princess fairer and better than his late wife was his own daughter.”
Yep. You heard it. Fairy-tale incest. Awesome, Tee Tee.
But do I, Tee Tee, stop reading at this hint of possible fairy-tale incest?
No.
No, I do not.
“He told his daughter that he would marry her, since she alone met with the conditions of his promise.”
Piper stares up at me from the balloon bed, blue eyes huge and shocked and I don’t like this look. Make it go away. That’s the look for later, when she finds out about Santa; that’s not the look for here and now, for me, Tee Tee. She opens her mouth and starts to whisper, ” But, Tee Tee ….” I interrupt her, laugh gamely, and talk fast. “Oh, haha. Isn’t that silly? He can’t marry his daughter, can he? Haha.” Yes. Haha. Silly incest.
And in the corner of my mind where my common sense naps contentedly, I hear a faint alarm, a bell of warning, a dim gong gonging to rouse that sleeping part of me, but it snoozes on, dreaming of Christmas bells and pie. “Ask not for whom the bell tolls, Tee Tee.”
Meanwhile back in our looming Greek tragedy, the princess begs and begs her father to forget the idea, but he will not be swayed because he is a hideous perv. The Lilac Fairy, her godmother naturally, comes up with an idea to buy some time.
“Tell him to get you a dress the color of the weather before you give him an answer.”
He does so.
“Ask for a dress the color of the moon.”
She gets one.
“Uh, now …. demand a dress the color of the sun.”
And, voila, new dress.
So while the royal wardrobe grows bigger and bigger, I just keep reading because, well, I’m in it now, aren’t I? Fairy-tale incest is imminent, Piper’s eyes are bulging, and I’m determined to make them look normal again somehow. I mean, I can’t send her back to my sister looking like this. Like Tee Tee’s is a house of horrors that turns little girls into Marty Feldman, even though that’s exactly what it is at the moment. But it’s gonna be better. Somehow. The sun’ll come out tomorrow, I’m sure. If I just keep reading. Betcher bottom doll … ar …
The princess, even with all her gorgeous new duds, is frantic. Her pervy father will not relent because he is such a big fat perv. So The Lilac Fairy — no real genius so far, frankly — offers another idea.
“Now we must ask him something really hard. Demand the skin of his dear famous donkey who gives him all his gold.”
And here is where my plan — my ill-advised but well-intentioned plan — to de-bulge my niece’s eyes goes terribly horribly awry.
“The king thought it a queer wish but he did not hesitate. The donkey was killed and its skin brought to the unhappy princess.”
Holy animal abuse, Batman!
I glance down at my future no-fur designer and watch her whole face scrunch up, harginger of an approaching storm of tears. Oh, no. No. Make it go away, Tee Tee. Make it go away now. In that sleepy corner of my mind, the dim gong gongs louder and common sense rouses for a moment. I look down at her face and hear myself say — finally — “Uhm, sweetie, do you want to stop the story now?”
From deep in the furrow of her face comes a shaky, “No, Tee Tee. I want to hear how it ends.”
You know, this is so great. Singlehandedly, I have created the perfect nighty-nite moment for a 7-year-old girl: Fairy-tale incest, animal fur used as clothing, imminent tears. Just the ingredients necessary for a deep sleep full of nothing but sweet dreams.
I am reminded how much I loathe myself.
Maybe I can mitigate the damages with some saucy, age-appropriate banter, I think, but I am discombobbled by yellow haze and snoozy judgment and bad timing and the whole venture falls completely flat, like this:
“Pipey, wouldn’t it be cool if instead leaving piles of dog poo in the backyard, Hawkeye left piles of gold? That would be kinda neat, huh?”
“But Tee Tee, if it came from his bottom, I don’t think I’d like that very much.”
Good point. Shut up, Tee Tee, for the love of God. Just finish the whole squalid tale.
It basically goes like this: The Lilac Fairly urges the princess to leave, wrapped in the donkey skin. “All your dresses will follow you underground in a trunk.” (Of course. That’s where all my gowns are.) “Tap this wand when you want them.” So the princess wanders aimlessly, filthy in her donkey skin, until she finds a job cleaning pigsties. She works hard and lives in a hovel on the farm. One day, she passes a pond, sees her reflection and is disgusted at the sight. Back in her hut, she taps the wand and is immediately splendid again in her weather-colored dress. Just then, a handsome nosy prince happens by the farm. He passes the rickety shack, stares through the keyhole — as anyone would do in this situation — and falls immediately in love. He goes home and becomes lovesick and bedridden over the vision of Donkeyskin. “Mother,” he croaks, “have Donkeyskin make me a cake. Maybe that will help.” (Smart lad. Cake helps everything.) The cake is made, but, oops, a tiny delicate ring is left behind in the cake. Prince almost chokes on the thing. “Send for all the women in the kingdom!” (This sounds … familiar …) Donkeyskin shows up, hiding her glory under the grungy skin. She’s teased at court until the ring …. ta da! … fits perfectly. With a shake of her lovely shoulders, the donkey skin slips off and the princess is resplendent again in a sun-colored dress. The prince falls to his knees and begs her to marry him. At the wedding, Donkeyskin’s father arrives with a new “sensible” wife, having been forced, I guess, to choose from the dregs of society left to him after his daughter’s departure. Still, he’s delighted to find his daughter alive, gives her his blessing, and everyone is happy, happy, happy!
Phew. Dodged that fairy-tale incest bullet. Let’s never speak of it again.
“I’m glad the king didn’t marry his daughter, Tee Tee,” comes the somber little voice.
Drat.
“Yeah, me too.”
Then she brightens and changes the subject.
“Know what, Tee Tee? I think those dresses sounded really beautiful.”
And a 7-year-old saves the day.
“Yeah, me too, sweetie.”
Thank God for the resilience of kids because, frankly, I’m totally traumatized.
