Poor Cinderella was not clean,

Of muck and mess she was the queen,

She hadn’t washed in sixteen years,

Under her arms, behind her ears.

In short, and to be very frank,

She was quite pretty but - she stank!

One day the Prince invited all

To a stupendous, sumptuous ball:

‘You are invited to a bash,

As long as you have lots of cash.

If you do not want to be snubbed,

Please turn up clean and freshly scrubbed.’

When poor old Cinders read that bit,

All she could do was curse and spit.

Her sisters laughed, could barely speak,

‘To clean yourself you’ll need a week.’

‘They’re right,’ said Cinders, ‘Drat and blast!

I need a fairy really fast!’

‘I’m here,’ a voice said in a tick.

‘Phewee!’ said Cinders, ‘That was quick.’

This fairy was not very bright,

And rarely got a spell quite right,

She waved her wand, said ‘Fat, foot, feet’,

FLASH! Cinders was a toilet seat!

She growled, ‘You’d better turn me back,

Or I’ll give you a great big smack!’

‘Alright, alright,’ the Fairy said,

‘I’ll try another spell instead.’

She waved her wand, said ‘Can’t, could, can’,

POW! Cinders was all spick and span,

And, what is more, she smelled so sweet

That with a rose she could compete.

‘You’ve made me late, it’s nearly ten,

I won’t be using YOU again,’

Said Cinders as she flounced away

And left the fairy in dismay.

‘She doesn’t know about midnight.’

Then with a smile, ‘It serves her right.’

The next bit of the tale you know:

She met the Prince, they danced all slow,

Their eyes met and blah blah blah blah,

Well, you know how these stories are.

At twelve the bells struck once, struck twice,

Cinders was thinking, ‘This is nice,

The bells are going boom, boom, boom.’

But boom, boom, boom became her doom.

For as the twelfth ring died away,

The other guests were not okay.

A smell so foul was bubbling up

That some had started doubling up.

The Prince’s valet screamed, ‘That’s rank!

It smells just like a sceptic tank.’

Cinders went redder than the sun,

And then began to run and run.

The Prince he followed at a trot,

But fast as Cinders he was not.

She clambered down the fire escape,

And her left shoe caught in her cape.

It slid from off her foot and fell,

Glad to escape the awful smell.

The Prince arrived, ‘What shall I do?

How can I find her with a shoe?

I know! I’ll use the internet!’

‘It hasn’t been invented yet!’

His valet screamed, the Prince: ‘Don’t yell!

I’ll use my nose, follow the smell.’

He sniffed and snuffled like a hound

Until the Prince his love had found.

He took her in his arms and kissed her,

Which left him with a nasty blister.

And they lived happy ever after,

And do you know he never bath’d her?

For though Love’s blind, or so they tell,

It sometimes has no sense of smell!