And gazing down at her, handsome Prince Charming bent to kiss her lips. Then he swooped her into his strong arms and up onto his shining white steed. They galloped toward his stalwart castle, towers gleaming in the orange rays of the sunset. And she lived happily ever after.

Puke.

As if.

Yes, it is a fairy tale. But honestly. Such endings are the wistful wish-fulfillment fantasies of erstwhile dreamy peasant girls—nowadays dreamy new-millennium girls raised on Disney pap and false promises. All that’s missing are the dancing, singing mice and teapot.

Think of the fairy tales you know. The popular gooey ones. And look at the vapid girls who inhabit these tales. Girls without much backbone. Girls who mainly sit pretty, and let the men do the saving and liberating.

Cinderella, who has no more gumption than to be sweet and dress prettily and be home on time. She is rescued by the prince.

Cindy’s close cousin, Rapunzel, trapped in a tower. Her great escapade: to drop her luxurious long hair down. It’s the prince who does all climbing and, even after he’s blinded by the witch’s treachery, he is still responsible for the final rescue and transport to a happily-ever-after castle.

Sleeping Beauty? Please. She sleeps daintily through it all while one hundred years’ worth of courageous and daring dudes try to rouse her from slumber. Yet again, it’s a prince who eventually slashes through the brambles to awaken the comatose heroine.

Remember the story of Rumplestiltskin? Interestingly, the lovely miller’s daughter doesn’t even warrant a  …