She's Got Legs

Let me just say that Hans got it all wrong. He was a bit of a romantic, that man- tragic romance, yes, but romance nonetheless. So when he retold my story he had to turn it into a love story, had to make it a quest for a soul.

But honey, it was really just a quest for a killer pair of shoes. And, of course, the ability to wear them.

There are many wonderful things about being a daughter of the sea king- a mermaid, as he dubbed me. Many wonderful things, indeed. Your hair always- and I mean always- looks good. You have more pearls than most people could even dream of. And the amount of swimming the lifestyle necessitates means that your body is totally good enough to pull off the topless look my people favor. All in all, not a bad deal. But the thing is you have a tail- and while that tail is just fantastic for propelling you through the water, it just sucks for accessorizing. Fins, not feet. Fins. And do you know what kind of shoes fit on fins?

Neither do I. Because they don't exist. Trust me.

I might have gone my entire life not even knowing what was missing, if my older sisters hadn't been in the habit of scavenging ship-wrecks. They brought me along one day, and I noticed that they kept discarding what were, to me, beautiful pieces of art. When I asked them why they told me they were useless- things called shoes that land-dweller females wore on their feet. Of course I knew what feet were- sea birds have feet, after all- but I had a hard time picturing them on mortal women. You must understand that the only glimpses I'd had of the creatures they were wearing long gowns, each and every one of them- I guess I'd had the impression that they were rather bell-shaped below the waist. But when I saw those beautiful little shoes, I knew I had to find a way to wear them- no matter the cost.



(She's Got Legs)