The true story of Cinderella (as told by her stepmother).

It's not fair when you're a stepmother. Even if your stepchild is the worst little beast you could imagine, he or she is still portrayed as a sweet, little angel. Meanwhile, you get stuck with the part of the ugly, evil, old witch. Not all stepmothers are ugly, evil, old witches. Some of us are quite nice. But enough of that. We have a story to tell--the true story of Cinderella.

I used to live in a beautiful, old house in Charmville with my two daughters, who were obedient, took care of me, and always got along perfectly. Yet I was lonely. I wanted a husband. One day, I met a man. He was everything I had ever hoped for--handsome, kind, and loving. He had a beautiful little girl named Cinderella. Why he named her that, I have no idea.

Cinderella seemed sweet and gentle, but she was a terror. Oh, sure, when her father was around, she was nice as pie. But when he was out, she was a living, breathing nightmare. She played a million little tricks on me. Now, I always check for spiders in my bed and frogs in my soup. (Don't ask.)

Time went on, and a sad day came to pass. My husband died, and I was left to take care of three children all by myself. To make matters worse, Cinderella behaved her absolute worst just after her father died.

I hoped things would get better, but they didn't. In fact, they got worse. I bought Cinderella beautiful silk and velvet gowns of better quality than mine. But she refused to wear anything but dirty, old rags. She threw the beautiful dresses out the window. That was just the tip of the iceberg. She didn't eat any of the food I made. She never cleaned up when guests came over. She argued with my daughters nonstop. She never did her share of chores. Worst of all, she was sassy to me from the moment she awoke to the moment she fell asleep.

One day, a message came from the palace. It was an invitation to the royal ball! My girls were so excited! Cinderella, as usual, was dressed in rags and covered with dirt. I gave her one warning.

"Cinderella, you have three days to clean up your act. If by that time you have not cleaned yourself and your room, and done all your chores, I will not let you go to the ball."

Three days passed. Cinderella did nothing I had told her to do.

"Cinderella, I am very disappointed in you," I said. "You have not cleaned your room or yourself or done any of your chores. It pains me to say this, but you may not go to the ball."

Cinderella frowned. "You ugly, old wart!" she shouted. "Go sit on a pin!"

I ignored her and helped my daughters get ready for the ball. As we left, Cinderella was smiling about something.

When we were gone, Cinderella called 1-800-F-A-I-R-Y-G-O-D-M-O-T-H-E-R and rented a pumpkin! A pumpkin is like a limousine, only better. She put on one of my very best dresses and went to the ball herself.

When she arrived, no one recognized her. She went straight for the prince, who was dancing with my daughter Anastasia. Poor little Anastasia's heart was broken.

Finally my other daughter, Gisella, cried, "That's no princess! That's Cinderella!" Cinderella bolted. We all rushed after her. Gisella lost her shoe on the way out. Cinderella hid in the bushes. Then she switched Gisella's shoe with her own when the coast was clear.

So when the prince came looking for the shoe's owner two weeks later, Cinderella claimed it. Of course, the shoe fit, and Cinderella had its match. She and the prince were married, and she told everyone all those lies you must have read in her biography. After that, my daughters and I went into hiding because everyone hated us so much.