“If I were Rapunzel, I’d build a door,” Margaret told her sister, brushing a coat of sparkly blue polish across her nails. “Instead of sitting around waiting for some prince to rescue me.”
Lucinda put down her own bottle of Dreamsicle pink and looked frustrated. “Rapunzel couldn’t build a door,” she said, waving her nails to dry. “She didn’t have any tools up there, plus it was too high up, plus the witch was evil and would’ve stopped at nothing to keep her enslaved.”
Margaret gave her big sister a look of pity and frustration; she knew Lucinda was closer to grown than young, so it wasn’t her fault she’d forgotten the truth about things. Still, her doubt was tiresome.
“You can always build a door,” Margaret explained, trying to save her sister from a life of mundanity.
“The only trouble comes from thinking that you can’t.”
Lucinda shrugged her shoulders and turned on the television; Margaret made a mental note to herself:
Never forget about Rapunzel and those doors.