“Well of course you're shallow!” said the Fairy Godmother. “What's with the sense of entitlement? Of course you can't go to the ball. You don't belong. Why would you want to go? Have you got anything to wear? No! You expect me to provide it. Why do you want the prince? You've already got Buttons.”
“I don't want Buttons, I want the prince,” said Cinderella.
“I want, I want... it's all I get from you. Ooh, I have to have the best carriage and the finest horses and a ball gown that makes me look like a meringue so I can pretend to be someone I'm not. Don't you think someone wanted that pumpkin? And what did the mice ever do to you? You're just bloody selfish.”
“But you're my fairy godmother! You're supposed to be helping me!” She stamped her foot.
“I am helping you, you airhead! You'll get nowhere with these ridiculous expectations. Live within your means. Pick a man who loves you, not some tool who thinks you can base love on shoe size. Learn to be happy within your own life. Don't change your life. Change yourself.”
“Don't change my life? I have to work!”
“Everyone has to work, sugar. You think I'm doing this for the good of my health?”
“You don't know what it's like. Did you never watch Slumtown's Next Top Princess and think 'that could be me?'”
A derisive snort. “You need to sort your life out, girl. You're even harder work than Lady Di. And we all know how that ended up...” A shudder. “Look, you need to get this into your head. You're not going to be a princess. Like most people, you've got a hard life that you have to make the best of. Work out what skills you've got and use them to your best advantage.”
So Cinderella got herself pregnant by a married footballer, sold her harrowing story to the tabloids and spent the rest of her life blaming the fairy because she wasn't a princess.