Here indeed, is a story that’ll give you poose gimples…
Tunce upon a wime in a corin funtry there lived a very geautiful birl; her name was Rindercella. Now, Rindercella lived with her mugly other and her two sisty uglers. Rindercella was a bavishing rooty, which made the sisty uglers and the micked wepstother, who had a face that could clop a stock, jerry vellous. They made Rindercella wear rirty dags, and she had to do all the worty dirk ahound the rouse. She had to flop the mores, dosh the wishes, solish the pilver, loo the daundry and feen the pliercase, which got her covered in sashes and oot. That’s how she not her game.
Now in this same coreign fountry, there was cuge hassle, home of a prandsome hince who was a bonely lachelor. He decided it was time he mot garried, so he invited people from riles amound, especially the pitch reaple, to a bancy fess drawl.
One of the invitations went who the touse where Rindercella lived. Of course, when the micked wepstother and the sisty uglers awe the sinvitation, they shent whopping for dancy fesses, but they told Rindercella she couldn’t go to the bancy fess drawl.
Well the bay of the dawl finally came and the micked wepstother and her dew totters beft for the dawl. Rindercella was left home to chew the doors. Rindercella, with ears in her ties which went chunning down her reeks, cat down and scried. She was a kitten there a scrien, when all at once there appeard before her, her gairy mudfother.
“Cry are you whying, Rindercella?” asked the gary mudfother.
“Oh, hoo boo! My micked wepstother and sisty uglers went to the prandsome hince’s bancy fess drawl and made me hay at stome,” Rindercella mailed wournfully.
“Well, crop stying,” said the gary mudfother. “You shall bo to the gall!” She waved her wagic mond, and Rindercella’s rirty dags were burned into a gootiful town, she had a tanfastic dairhoo and on her feet were do tainty sass glippers.
The gary mudfother then led Rindercella into the garden. With another wove of her waind, she turned a pig bumpkin and some mield fice into a cig boach and hix white sorces.
“There, Rindercella,” sea shed, “now you can bo to the gall. But you must be mid by homelight when the well spares off or I’ll purn you into a tumpkin.
Rindercella caught into the goach, thofusely pranked the gary mudfother and bent to the wall.
When Rindercella arrived at the bancy fall, the prandsom hince met her at the door because he had been watchin’ behind a woden hindow. They nanced all dight, and Rindercella had hever been nappier…and they lell in fove
All sue tune, the strock cluck nidmight. Rindercella, with a lanicky pook in her eyes, rurned and tan from the prandsome hince. She ran out of the cuge hassle, and just as she beached the rottom, she slopped her dripper.
The prandsome hince ran after her, but he was slew tow. He spotted the glainty sass dipper on the steps, and fowed to vined the droman of his weams.
The dext nay, he hent from wouse to wouse asking women to sly on the tripper. But it fidn’t dit any of them. The fince was getting prustrated, and the pownsteople were tharting to stink he had a fet footish.
Date in the lay, he rinally feached the house where Rindercella lived. He slied the tripper on the micked wepstother, and of course it fidn’t dit. He slied the tripper on the sisty uglers, and it find’t did them either.
Then he raw Spindercella, ressed in drags as usual. “Thoo is hat?” he asked.
“Oh, that’s just Rindercella,” said a sisty ugler. “She doesn’t have any drancy fesses, so she didn’t abend the tall.”
“Come here, Rindercella,” ped the since, “and sly on tris thipper.”
Rindercella did, and the pipper slit ferfectly! It was exactly the sight rize! So the prandsome hince masked her to arry him. “Of woarse I kill,” she replied. A lew fays dater, they mot garried. They had coo tids, a bandsome hoy and a gritty pearl, and they all lived heverly ever hapwards.
Now, the storal of the mory is this: If you ever go to a bancy fall and want to have a pransom hince loll in fove with you, don’t forget to slop your dripper!