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Fiction Short Story

by Judy Goldman

The Mid-Life Crisis of Snow White

"Henry, you bastard!  The attractive, middle-age woman with the stray strands of graying hair wiped the sweat from her forehead with her free hand.  She reached for her second Bavarian cream Dunkin Donut of the morning with the other.  "I'm sick and tired of waiting on you hand and foot; sick and tired of it, do you hear me?”   She finishes taking the last of the clean dishes out of the dishwasher, replacing all available space with new ones already dirtied by today's breakfast, and presses the button marked HEAVY WASH.  "You're not the same prince I married years ago." She turns to face him as she tosses the remains of the morning's paper into the garbage, her hand sticking to the glob of syrup that never made it onto his stack of pancakes.

"Yeah, right," snorted Henry Charming.  "Like you're still da looker dat you usedta be.  Just make sure da batroom is done right dis time.  Da Tidy Bowl man and you left a huge ring under da rim of da toilet last time," he shouted after her as he slammed the garage door behind him.  "You have a great freekin' day too," he called out as she rushed past him on her way to the pile of towels outside the bathroom.

She passed the first of the upstairs bedrooms. The unmistakable smell of sweaty feet permeated the hallway air. "Ugh," Princess Snow White editorialised, bending down and picking up a variety of clothing strewn over the floor. "Dwarf socks!"

She hoisted the overflowing laundry basket up and headed down the three flights of stairs to the laundry room. Huffing and puffing, she tossed in tablets with special whiting agents, while separating the whites from the colors. A few more stray thinning strands of hair fell loosely around her face. She set the dial on the machine to HEAVY SOIL and barrelled back into the kitchen.

The brass knocker on the front door sounded, echoing loudly. It was quickly followed by a slender, frazzled-looking woman. She jogged into the kitchen. She is attractive, also forty-something, dressed in fringed cut-off shorts, a hot pink sleeveless tank top, and running sneakers.

"I can't stay but a minute, Snow. I'm still in the middle of my two-miles." She ran in place while she spoke. "Got any coffee? I sure could use a cup. This extended family stuff is for the birds; let me tell you!"

She helped herself to a mug of leftover morning coffee.

"Where does it say I have to be the one to take care of them just because we're related? They're stepsisters, for cryin' out loud! Where were they, I ask you, when I needed to get to the ball? I don't suppose I could interest you in swapping a couple of old dwarfs for a couple of aging, wicked stepsisters, could I?"

"Cindi, come now. You can't mean that! I'll be the first to admit it. I get frustrated with the little guys from time to time, sure. God knows, there's no chance whatsoever of me ever finding the toilet seat down around here anymore. And you see how crazy it gets here at Christmas time when all the neighborhood kids keep insisting that these little guys are Santa's helpers. Believe me, it's not easy convincing them that they will not get the toys they want by putting all the letters they've written in our mailbox. But we're family and family sticks together."

"You're right, Snow. Of course I love them. It's a good thing I started this new exercise regime, work out the excess stress and all."

She drained the last of the coffee, put the empty mug with the Enchanted Castle logo back in the sink and headed toward the door, picking up speed as she darted from the kitchen. "Thanks for the chat, neighbor! See ya tomorrow."

"Whoa girl. What's da rush? Stay put." Henry bent his tall frame, clumsily pushing Cindy back into the chair she just left.

"So whatcha been up to, girl?" Henry reached into the frost-free side-by-side refrigerator, pulling out a Bud Light. He popped the lid, drained the contents in one continuous gulp, then crushed the can with his right hand, leaving it on the counter in a heap. "I keep tellin' you, Snow, I hate dis light beer crap."

Cindy popped herself back out of the chair, her eyes darting toward the door. "I'd love to sit and chat, Henry, but I really need to get back."

Henry reached for a second can, seating himself at the table. "You're lookin' mighty good, Cindy." His eyes slowly scanned her from head to toe, and then back up, resting at her chest. Cindy began inching backward.

"I'll um... talk to you soon, Snow," she called, running out the door.

"What's da matter wit her? She acted like I had da plague or sometin'," Henry stretched out in the chair. He scratched his stomach and then belched. "Toss me another beer, will ya?"

"Say," he smiled, revealing a space where a tooth had once been. "One good ting about Cindy runnin' out on us, we've got da place to ourselves? No chance of dose seven annoyin' freekin' little guys gettin’ back here before evening, right?" C'mere," he pats his thigh. "Wanna play make-up for that little spat we had earlier dis mornin'?"

Snow filled a glass of water, downing it along with a Xanax.


About the Author
Judy is a lifetime member of Writers’ Village. She has developed her own humor column, "Hey Jude" for SanityCentral.com and has had writing tips published in the E-Zine Writer's newsletter.  Judy has also had a non-fiction piece published in T-zero. She currently lives in the mountains of Northeastern Pennsylvania with Bill, her better half, and their three cats who permit them to share their home.