A Short Parable of the Princess & her Castrated Princes ~ Inside a Writer’s Head


Once upon a time, a princess was born. 

This was no ordinary gal.  She was born of enlightened, divorced parents and raised in the rarefied atmosphere of private education in sunny California.  Her mother was adamant that her daughter would not consider her sex a handicap and did all she could to instil in her a sense of pride in her femininity, teaching her from an early age the dangers of masculine power.  The little princess was destined to become a queen and no effort was spared in creating the right foundation for her success.

At four she was introduced to yoga, naturally bending her supple limbs into lotus and lifting them high in an unsupported headstand. At eight she was given her own personal mantra, never to be disclosed to a single person for fear of it losing its magic. At twelve she was initiated into the womb of the Red Tent where she listened to stories of the wounded feminine. And at eighteen she was given the keys to a cute little convertible and told the world was her oyster.

For four years, she ignored all else but her studies, taking her future as seriously as her parents did. Then, at twenty-three, the princess high-tailed it away from home, following the guidance of her guru who told her that travel would open the eyes and the mind, and help her to become the queen she was destined to be.

Her travels took her to the ancient Q’ero of Peru, seers and visionaries who promised to anchor her destiny.  At Machu Picchu she took part in a Despacho ceremony held in honour of her becoming, shortly followed by throwing her guts up at an Ayahuasca ceremony in the jungle to clear any negative energy she was carrying.  She wasn’t taking any risks when it came to ensuring of her future.

Still chasing her becoming, she crossed the ocean to India where she took in the ancient sculptures at Khajuraho and had her breasts fondled by a wayward holy man who promised a divine blessing through his touch.  After two more bouts of fondling and a dose of food poisoning, she decided she had been sufficiently blessed and moved on to the relative civility of Europe, seeking refuge with the Sisters of Hildegard von Bingen.

The Sisters closed ranks around her, introducing her to a world of female solitude and mysticism.  For the first time, the princess felt peace.  There was no more chasing the future, no more wildness.  Just simple, natural, peace.  And boredom.  All this sisterly love was cool, but where were the men?  Where was the world she was destined to rule? She longed for a masculine presence in her life and power to wield. Reluctantly, she turned her back on the Convent and returned to her homeland.

Back home, the princess looked herself sternly in the mirror and decided it was time to get serious.  Equipping herself with the right wardrobe and contacts, she found herself a place in a law firm.  Money and accolades soon rolled in, as the princess displayed ample beauty and brains.  She built her very own ivory tower, with a view of the Ocean, and decorated it in stainless steel and glass. And it wasn’t long before princes started lining up for her hand.  Perhaps it was time to find a mate.

The first prince she brought home was tall, dark and handsome – exactly how she hoped her future king would appear.  But he scared her by coming on too strong, so she castrated him and threw his balls in a bronze pot.  That would teach him to think he was in charge!

The second prince was fair and gentle.  He cooked her the perfect Paleo dinner and cleaned up afterwards using natural products.  So she castrated him for being unmanly and threw his balls in a silver pot.  Did he really think she would consort with such a wimp?

The third prince was Harvard educated and widely travelled, filling her head with stories of what might be.  He only came as far as the door on the first date, waiting patiently to gauge what the princess really wanted.  So she castrated him for indecisiveness and threw his balls in a gold pot.  A prince should know what he wants!

Word got out as the local eunuch community increased, and other princes grew wary.  After all, royalty or not, why would they bother courting princesses who weren’t willing to give them a fair chance?

The princes lowered their standards and sought out the eager, yet unroyal, gals, who were less demanding and would leave their balls intact.  After all, if there had to be a choice between hanging onto their balls or having a feisty queen by their side, very few would risk choosing the latter.

And so, to this day, it’s not unusual to see princesses and queens sitting alone in their ivory towers, playing with their treasure chests of baubles, while would-be kings and commoners happily consort.


    • Interesting you should interpret it that way, William. It’s a satirical commentary on a pattern I have witnessed among some women and is something I find far from being a source of humour. Perhaps the Irish satirical voice doesn’t translate across the Atlantic.

    • Because they do. Also, there is nothing wrong with resenting “feminism”. Also, I guess the morale of the story is that some women are just wrong in their heads. This can sometimes turn into a trend. The men in the story did not know she was sick. That’s the problem with men – they often think they are doing something wrong and that’s why things do not work. Men and women are very different. Most of thee differences are biological and evolutionary. There is no point in trying to understand them – it’s just a horrible waist of time. It is not supposed to happen. Just get in, make babies, and get out as soon as you can as there are much more enjoyable things to do in life than wasting time trying to achieve understanding with the wrong woman (95% of them).

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