This was for a class assignment: rewrite a fairy tale for modern times.
Swipe. Swipe. Swipe.
Cameron flicked the phone with her thumb. Her sisters had put her up to this, and now they hovered over her shoulders watching her movements. Her older sister was shouting directions.
“Left. Left. Left. Right! Oooh, right! Left. RIGHTRIGHTRIGHT!”
“I think I’ve got this, Bree,” Cameron said, backing away and clasping the phone to her chest. “I know what I want.”
Her sisters looked at each other and barked exaggerated laughs. “No, Cam,” the older one said, shaking her head, “you don’t. If you did, we wouldn’t be here doing this right now.”
“Your ex-husband was kind of a disaster,” said the younger one. “I mean, he was sweet and all, but a little—”
“—Weird,” finished the older. “Just say it, Stella. He was weird.”
Cameron dropped the phone into her bag. “He wasn’t weird. He just had unusual interests.”
“Maybe because he was so rich?” Stella said. “I mean, when you grow up like that, having everything you want, you’re bound to be a little stunted in the emotional department, right? People have to find fulfillment in different ways. Bree, you’ve known guys like that.”
Bree snorted. “Yeah, but usually they do stuff like taking sailing lessons or collecting motorcycles. They don’t start stockpiling women’s shoes. How many pairs did you say he had?”
Cameron pressed her lips together. She wished she hadn’t shared that information with her sisters, especially Bree, but an oaky Chardonnay had divulged all. “I can’t remember,” she said.
“I do,” Bree said. “Over 800 pairs. Did any of them even fit you?”
Stella shot her older sister a look then turned to Cameron. “I don’t think that’s so weird,” Stella said, putting her hand lightly on Cameron’s arm. “Maybe he was into fashion. A lot of men are.”
“Stella,” Bree said, “His favorite sexy role play was ‘Shoe Store.’”
Stella winced. “Okay. I don’t want to kink-shame here, but that is a little strange,” Stella said. “But still,” she continued, “you got to go to a lot of nice parties.”
Cameron remembered the parties. Lush affairs with beautiful food she couldn’t eat for fear it would show beneath the outfits her ex-husband had chosen for her. And of course, after every event, her feet were swollen and covered in Band-Aids. When she left the marriage for good, she’d tossed anything higher than a kitten heel.
She fished the phone out of her purse and launched the app. She knew what she wanted. Someone average-looking with no deep secrets who would appreciate her Lululemon wardrobe and enjoy a Friday night on the couch just watching movies.
“I just want someone to watch Netflix with me and just…” she sighed. “Just chill.” She started tapping the screen. “I think I’ll put that in my profile.”
Both sisters lunged at her phone. “NO!”
…and scene.
Clamhead 