Ok that's not entirely true. I don't mind Ariel, who is very obviously a vapid, insipid, relatively spineless (but cute and oh so perky in her shell bikini!!) 13 or 14 year old who knows no better than to fall desperately in love with the first totally white-bred prince she lays eyes on.
|everyone is so fucking happy under the sea!! yaaay!|
And then she's all DADDY I WANT!! and yada yada, things get turned into weird sea cucumber looking things...
|we are not amused.|
|Oh, Ursula, we hardly knew ye|
and then everyone lives happily ever after because Eric likes fish jailbait. Smooch!!
|tigers make you cool. jsyk.|
But Belle. Oh Belle. How I abhor you, you ridiculous piece of paint and computer vector.
|I think deep thoughts and no one understands me :(|
This is kind of an odd thing to have issue with all of a sudden, but I was brushing my teeth the other night and singing Disney in my head (like you do when you grew up in the 90's and those songs get surgically interwoven into your very brain chemistry and gray matter so that during random moments for the rest of your life you will catch yourself singing them without ever having intended to do so) and I was thinking of the lyrics of Belle's first song.
There goes the baker with his tray like always,
the same old bread and rolls to sellllll
(because I, at 15, am so worldly and-- concurrently-- world weary that even this freshly baked French bread that is so insanely good and sought after by half the world is totally lamesauce to me. Bakers? Also lame.)
every morning just the same,
since the morning that we came
to this poor provincial town
(because I, at 15, know all about this shit. French history is clearly what I've been reading about in all my books. Also? I am using Provincial to mean quaint but I am neglecting to acknowledge the fact that Provincial is also a thinly veiled insult, meaning unsophisticated, like those cute but stupid bridge and tunnel folk I must put up with every day. Poor me.)
Good Morning Belle! Good Morning Monsieur! Where are you off to? The book shop! I just finished the most wonderful story about a beanstalk and an ogre and...
|I dance and stuff!|
(okay so I'm not reading about French history. I, who am smarter than everyone else in this pathetic town, am reading about Jack and the fucking Beanstalk. I apparently do not know that this is a fricking fairy tale, which is usually part of a compilation of fairy tales, thus disabling it from being an entire book. Also? Part of my world weariness and smug better-than-thou attitude comes from not having access to better reading material. It is a really good thing that I'm about to meet a giant castle-bound French bigfoot/yeti/abominable snowman who has a penchant for cute young things and likes to fight timberwolves in his spare time. Hey he has a library!! HOT!! Also? Stoked about the talking chandelier. He has a french accent! This means he is sophisticated.*)
*I am not pointing out the irony of a chandelier with a French accent in what is clearly supposed to be France. It is too obvious.
Disney, I want my brain matter back. You bastards.