Happily ever after isn't so happy after all. Ever heard of the touching tale about true love? Of how a young woman with long hair like strands of gold escaped with her prince from the terrible clutches of the enchantress Gothel? Well, let me tell you something right now. Fairy tales don't exactly touch on what follows the "happily ever after."

I still remember the first time we met. As usual, I was perched on a chair beside my window, brushing my hair. Seems like a pretty typical girl activity, right? Wrong. My hair is about 70 feet long. Brushing it can take anywhere from 3 to 6 hours. Talk about arthritis.

Anyways, I was about halfway through when I heard a voice call, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!" This was a common occurrence seeing as my mother, Gothel, came to visit me everyday. For the most part, she was kind and loving. She could've been the best mom ever...if you ignored the fact that she kept me locked up in a tower with no other human interaction and never let me eat ice cream and never let me have a pet and made me sing cheesy musical numbers with her. Also, she double-dipped her chips into salsa. You know what? Scratch the "best mom" thing out. She was evil.

Okay, back to the story. Since Gothel kept me locked up, whenever she came to visit she would call out that phrase. In return, I would push my hair out the window and let her use it as a rope. Ouch.  However, this time was different. The figure that shimmied up my golden locks wasn't Gothel. It was a man. Curly chestnut hair, and a face with dark chocolate eyes, high cheekbones, and a sculpted nose stared back at me. It was love at first sight. Over the next couple of months, we started seeing each other in secret. I'm sure you've heard the tale. To cut a long story short, Gothel found out, cut off my hair, sent me to the desert, and blinded my poor prince. Somehow, we found each other, I cried tears into his eyes, he wasn't blind anymore, yada yada yada. We got married shortly afterwards.

Biggest mistake of my life. Here I was, wasting away in some cottage, cooking and cleaning. I do everything to make sure Flynn is happy. When he gets home from work, I have his meals ready. When he is tired, I give him a massage. When he wakes up, I lay out his outfits. Oh, I should probably mention that Flynn isn't the first-born prince, so he doesn't have rights to the throne. He also got kicked out of the castle after he married me. Can someone say daddy issues? Now, he works as an accountant.

Like I was saying, I am the model wife. The only thing I ask, the ONLY thing, is that he takes out the trash. Simple, right? Apparently not. Not only does Flynn refuse to take out the trash, he doesn't pay any attention to me. He gets home, sits on the recliner, and watches The Bachelor (this month's contestants are Snow White and like seven really short men). Flynn barely even looks at me. I'm sick and tired of it. Little does he know, I've scheduled a couple's counseling appointment. I WILL save this marriage.

**********

"How are you two doing this evening? I'm Dr. Rumpel and I will be helping you today." A short, wrinkled, fat man sits across from us with a pen in hand and a smile on his face. Dear lord, I asked for the best therapist they had. Instead, I get an old potato with a creepy smile.
Swallowing down my unease, I muster up a smile. "We're doing fine, thanks."

"So...what appears to be the problem between you two?"

I glance to the side, only to see Flynn staring at the wall with a glazed look on his face. How dare he? I scheduled this damned appointment for us. Clenching my teeth, I reply, "Flynn never gives me any attention. I might as well be a piece of chopped liver."

Startled out of la-la-land, Flynn shoots me a look while shaking his head. "I'm always tired after work. Not my fault. You're not perfect either. I can't even sleep at night because your freakishly long hair always gets in my face."

"It's not even that long!"

"Just because it's not 70 feet anymore, doesn't mean it's not long," Flynn growled at me, his fingers clenching his pants so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

That. Was. It. Cue the screaming match:

"OH YEAH? WELL AT LEAST I CAN MOW THE LAWN PROPERLY."

"RAPUNZEL, RAPUNZEL, LET DOWN YOUR EXPECTATIONS. NOT MY FAULT THE LAWN MOWER SUCKS."

"SNOW WHITE CHOOSES GRUMPY."

"YOU LITTLE B-"

"Children, calm down," the therapist coos. He had been scribbling away the entire time. "Yelling won't fix your problems. Why don't you try complementing each other?"

Flynn and I glare at each other for about five minutes, until I mutter, "You have nice hair..." It was little more than a whisper, but Flynn's expression softened.

"I like your hair too...also, you can cook really good food..."

Tears of joy well up in my eyes. "Really?!" This was the first time in months that Flynn has said anything remotely nice to me.

"Really...look, I'm sorry. I didn't realize how much this upset you. I'll try to take out the trash and, um, do other stuff." He looks away, scratching behind his head. I can't believe my ears. Maybe this story will end happily ever after.