‘So if Snowhite is in the glass coffin, how does the Prince kiss her?’ he asked me as I was narrating the fairy tale to him. I thought to myself,’ There are seven talking dwarves, an enchanted mirror and this is the technicality you choose to question me on?

Now we’re older and responsible (or so we like to think!). Seems there is no more room for the blind acceptance of fantasy that fairy tales offer to us. As a child growing up, fairy tales were everything to me. They fed me dreams of magic, love and kindness.  I smiled watching Cinderella’s little mice friends –  Jaq and Gus- struggle to save her from the clutches of her evil step-mother and help her re-unite with her Prince. I danced listening to ‘Tale as Old as Time’ from Beauty and the Beast desperately praying that Beauty would look past all his ugliness and fall in love with Beast.  I cried when the Little Mermaid gathered all her courage to give up everything she knew to be with the man she loved.  I longed for this sort of a love. To be carried by my Prince and saved from a slumber of a half-life by love’s first kiss.

I did meet my Prince. No there was no glass slipper or a dreamy soundtrack to our story. But yes there was magic. A different kind of magic. The kind where you keep discovering new reasons to love each other. The kind where you can love and hate each other to a point of madness.  Ours was the fairy tale that began after ‘Happily Ever After’.  Of course I was never prepared for the ‘after’ bringing in all kinds of crap along with the romance. The suckiness of reality blaring in our face, constantly reminding us that you have to work hard to stay happy. But at the end of the day, whether I’m being a Princess or a Wicked Witch, he’s always there beside me, holding my hand (gritting and fighting against himself to not run out the door!). And that beats any fairy tale.

So my answer to the Snowhite question is simple. ‘He finds a way.’