WA-5 draft 2

When my father announced that he was going to have a party in order for me to find myself a bride, I was mortified. My father may not have been the brightest bulb in the box, but really, a festival full of opportunities for me to make a fool of myself? Surely that was going a bit far. I suppose this is the time to let you know that while I may have been born a prince, I am not the typical blue-blooded, horse-and-hounds, flattering idiot most princes are. No, I’m just a coward. So, while I may be occasionally charming, generally I try and avoid any situation where there is a possibility of disgracing myself along with the entire family name, which is why this festival was a spectacularly bad idea.
In retrospect, I suppose it didn’t go too badly, nothing went completely wrong. I found a nice, seemingly normal girl, and stuck to her for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, she managed to lose her shoe, which my father wouldn’t let me forget. Supposedly, this meant that she wanted to marry me?! I mean, geez, she was only like fifteen, I didn’t think that she was serious about it, how could she be? So I set out to find this girl, so I could marry her- weird as that may be. I was so desperate to be done with the whole deal, I didn’t even care that the wrong girl was chosen- twice. These were possibly the most embarrassing moments of my entire life, traipsing through the countryside with a golden slipper. Why had she worn one- it couldn’t be at all practical, and it looked downright uncomfortable. However, I did it anyway, so I could go home and not be ridiculed by my father for the rest of my single life. Pathetic, I know.
The day of my wedding to the mystery girl was here. Despite our upcoming marriage, I still didn’t know her actual name: all I could get out of her was Aschenputtel, which couldn’t really be her name ( I hope). Anyway, I’m as nervous as hell, my father is still breathing down my neck, and suddenly I’m walking down the aisle. The girl takes considerable time to get up onto the dais, but she finaly manages, however, she looks frankly murderous. I realize, with some apprehension, that I barely know the girl, I mean, I am assuming that she is pretty much normal, but what if she’s a nervous wreck, or just plain weird? Now is not the time to think about that, I told myself, and you better just get up there, say ‘I do’ and make you family proud.
So I did, but the moment my blushing bride was supposed to make her vow, she, well, she didn’t. Instead, she went off like a shot, talking about how I was some kind of lunatic. I was the lunatic? She was the one screaming about ‘homicidal princess killers!’ At that moment, I froze, what do I do now? My fiancée is off her rocker, and what am I supposed to do about it? Typically of me, I do nothing but stand there and watch her storm off with my carriage. Still in shock, I felt the priest pat my shoulder. ‘Thank God you got out of that one, mate.”