Your F(l)at Highnesses

Once upon a time, there was a father who, wanting everything for his two perfect daughters, gave them everything they could ever ask for. His daughters lived like queens, with all their luxuries and none of their responsibilities. One hot summer day, as they sat on their thrones and rained demands on their hunchbacked slave, there was one whim that they kept repeating.

“I want a hammock, father.” “Yes!” “Even the commoners in the woods have them, so why do I not have one?” “Exactly!” “It must be handwoven silk.” “Precisely!” “You had better have it by tomorrow.” “Just right!”

He attempted to reason with his girls, but they only grew more insistent the more he assured them that there were no shops that could make them a silk hammock so soon.

And so that afternoon found him foregoing dinner and a bath to work on something he had no experience with. His children sniffed in disgust as they stepped around the mess of cloth and needles he sprawled across the ground and scorned his efforts as they retreated to their rooms after a tiring day of giving orders and whining. But he didn’t notice their words nor their belittling, so focused was he on sewing and cutting and wondering just how did women do this all the time? (For this was back when women were wives and housekeepers while men were breadwinners and fantastic at disappearing when caring for children was required. Of course, men are still incredibly proficient at disappearing.)

He had scarcely placed the finishing touches on his creation when the sun rose over the horizon, shining gaily down on the next day. He hung it neatly on two columns in their yard, flushed with success, and turned to the kitchen to prepare a royal breakfast.

The moment the dears woke, he tripped to his feet and hurried them into the yard. “It is here, it is here—you may open your eyes—is it not fine?”

They sneered and laughed at his work. “Oh, but look at these colors, mad like patchwork on steroids.” “Yeah!” “And these loose ends—I’ve never seen the like.” “Mm-hm!” “I said handwoven silk, did I not? What is this fabric? I’m sure you could find better on the backs of raggedly beggars.” “Totally!” “How embarrassing it is to stand by this atrocity.” “Just so!”

By and by, the insults dwindled and dried out. Seeing his chance, the man threw himself to his knees, prostrate and begging forgiveness. “Please—I apologize. I will create a new one, another and another, until my queens deem it worthy or until the day I die. But please, if Your Graces would only gratify your lowly father by making use of his creation just once, he would be so gratified—so thankful!”

They sneered at the man, just long enough for him to feel pain in his joints and discomfort in his heart, before letting up and agreeing to a minute on the atrocity. Together, they flounced to the hammock and sat primly, sneers haughty and firmly in place.

Second after second crawled by, until finally, the long-awaited minute was up. Just as they leaped gracefully to their feet and patted their dresses in relief, the roof above them came tumbling down on their heads, brought down by their weight pulling on the columns.

And that is the story of how the Fat Highnesses (for that was what they were called, no matter that they were not fat) became the Flat Highnesses.