If only dermatological science had been more advanced in the days of the Brothers Grimm, the fairy tale Wicked Queen / Evil Stepmother might have had better press. Quite honestly, having pouting teenage princesses under your feet and slobbering over every spotty amphibian they see would test the patience of a saint, let alone a middle-aged power-crazed psychopath. The last thing you need on top is hairy moles and liver spots.
With more sage skin advice, the world could have been spared the environmental impact of all those poisoned apples. Although nature will, it seems, win in the end.
Cue wavy lines and eerie flashback music
For years the Wicked Queen had asked questions that enabled the Magic Mirror to help her arrest dermatological decline.
‘Mirror Mirror on the frescoed ceiling,
Do I need dermabrasion or glycolic peeling?”
Fortunately, being an Internet-enabled magic mirror, it had been able to browse the latest offerings from New Idea during downtime. But now the mirror knew it was on a sticky wicket. Snow White had been given breast augmentation for her 18th birthday and had streaked ahead in the competition.
The next time the Queen posed a question, had the mirror got feet, it would have been shuffling them.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall,
The sands of time I’ve tried to stall
I’ve bought lotions for lines, stuff for my thighs
Fillers for wrinkles and lifts for my eyes
Tell me pseudo-science and marketing might
Beats the pants off the beauty and youth of Snow White.”
The response was swift and brutally honest.
“Let’s get real, you’re 64.
Your skin’s ageing is not premature
The kid’s young and fresh and quite a cutie
You got cellulite where she got booty”
Naturally, the Wicked Queen threw the Magic Mirror into the recycling bin with the old gin bottles, ate three packets of Tim Tams, had a good cry and went shopping. By the time she returned she had planned her revenge. From her environmentally-friendly shopping bag she pulled a small glass vial labelled ‘Menopause Accelerant’. The Wicked Queen injected the potion into a tin of Bacardi Breezer that Snow White had hidden in the fridge behind the jar of toadstool pickle.
Overnight, Snow White’s face blossomed with warts and her chin became astro-turfed with whiskers. Her designer gown transformed itself into the lint-balled polyester tracksuit of an old crone and grubby ugg boots sprouted on her feet. She immediately stacked on ten kilos, dialed out for pizza and switched on the latest reality TV show. It was about seven vertically challenged men of uncertain sexual orientation who lived together. By night they laboured in the secret underground office of a skin care company, producing made-up scientific names for new products to sell to gullible victims. (The theme song was “Retinol, retinol, it’s off to work we go…”) By day they searched for beautiful young girls to come and keep house for them.
“Geez” thought Snow White as she reached out to grab another handful of chocolates “What sort of mug would fall for any of that rubbish?”
Wendy Wardell is a satirical writer and professional speaker based in Western Australia. Wendy’s work is published in her regular column in Medical Forum Magazine and in her blog at http://wendywardell.blogspot.com/