💇 Rapunzel’s Hair Was Not Up to Code (#356)
The Rapunzel story, as handled by a man who refused to treat a woman’s scalp as public infrastructure.
I was walking through the forest one afternoon when I saw a prince climbing a woman’s hair.
This was not presented as an emergency.
No one was shouting.
No one seemed concerned about her neck.
The prince simply had both boots braced against the side of a stone tower and was pulling himself upward, hand over hand, using a long golden braid that extended from a window several stories above.
At the top, a young woman leaned backward with both hands gripping the windowsill.
Her face suggested this had happened before.
“Excuse me,” I called.
The prince looked down.
“This is private,” he said.
“You are climbing a person.”
“It is romantic.”
“That does not make it load-bearing.”
🏰 The Tower Had No Stairs
The tower was tall, narrow, and almost aggressively vertical.
It had one window near the top.
It had no ground-level entrance.
No visible staircase.
No emergency exit.
No small sign indicating maximum occupancy.
I walked around it twice, hoping the door had been installed somewhere less obvious.
It had not.
“Who designed this?” I asked.
“A witch!” shouted the prince.
That explained the mood, but not the architecture.
The young woman above called down.
“My name is Rapunzel.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
She said this while holding the entire weight of a royal man through her scalp.
There are many ways people say “I’m fine.”
This was the kind that should be followed by an inspection.
The prince continued climbing.
Each time he pulled, Rapunzel’s head tilted forward.
“You could use a ladder,” I suggested.
“There is no ladder.”
“That sounds like a problem someone should solve before continuing to climb the resident.”
He ignored me.
Princes are often praised for persistence.
This is sometimes just a polite word for refusing to stop doing something unreasonable.
🚒 The Fire Department Becomes Involved
I called the fire department.
They arrived with a large red ladder truck, six firefighters, two axes, several coils of rope, and the calm facial expressions of people who have already seen worse decisions before lunch.
The chief looked up at Rapunzel.
Then at the prince.
Then at the hair.
“How long has this been going on?” he asked.
“Years,” Rapunzel said.
The chief slowly removed his helmet and rubbed his forehead.
The prince finally reached the window.
The firefighters extended the ladder toward the tower.
I announced that I would go up to assess the situation.
This felt appropriate while I was standing on the ground.
It felt less appropriate once the ladder began to rise.
At approximately twelve feet, I became aware that I had confused moral courage with comfort at elevation.
At twenty feet, I wrapped both arms around the firefighter beside me.
At thirty feet, he had to carry me.
Not support me.
Carry me.
One arm under my knees.
One behind my back.
I continued asking questions about tower access while being transported upward like a nervous sack of flour.
“Is this standard procedure?” I asked.
“No.”
“Will this appear in the report?”
“Yes.”
“Could you describe me as cooperative?”
“No.”
My shirt rode up slightly.
One shoe nearly came off.
There are moments when dignity leaves the body before you do.
💇 Hair Is Not Public Infrastructure
Inside the tower, Rapunzel’s room was pleasant enough.
There was a bed, a table, several books, and the general atmosphere of someone who had spent years learning how to make one room feel like a life.
The firefighter set me down.
I adjusted my shirt and pretended the ascent had gone as planned.
“How often does someone climb your hair?” I asked.
Rapunzel thought about it.
“The witch comes up every few days.”
“And him?”
I pointed to the prince.
“Recently.”
The prince smiled.
I did not.
“So your hair is the building entrance.”
“I suppose.”
“And the emergency exit.”
“I suppose.”
“And the visitor access system.”
“Yes.”
“Does anyone ask before using it?”
Rapunzel looked at the prince.
The prince looked at the floor.
This answered several questions.
I examined the braid.
It was magnificent.
Thick, golden, and long enough to reach the ground.
It was also attached to a human head.
“This is not rope,” I said.
“It’s strong,” Rapunzel replied.
“I do not doubt that.”
That was the problem.
The witch had discovered that Rapunzel was strong and turned that strength into a convenience.
The prince had discovered the same thing and called it romance.
People are very respectful of your gifts right up until the moment they expect to use them.
🧯 The Rescue Without Symbolism
The fire chief announced that everyone was coming down by ladder.
The prince objected.
“This ruins the magic.”
“Gravity has never respected symbolism,” I said.
The firefighter carried Rapunzel first.
She descended calmly, wrapped in a safety harness, while her hair was bundled carefully beside her.
No one pulled on it.
No one climbed it.
No one asked her to brace herself against the window.
Then the firefighter returned for me.
“I can climb down,” I said.
He looked at me.
I looked at the ladder.
He carried me again.
The crowd below had grown.
Villagers watched.
Children pointed.
The prince tried not to laugh and failed in a way I recorded emotionally.
When my feet touched the ground, I stepped away with the stiff dignity of a man hoping everyone had suddenly become interested in clouds.
The witch arrived moments later.
She looked at the firetruck.
She looked at Rapunzel.
She looked at the ladder reaching the window.
“You have ruined everything,” she said.
“We added safe access,” I replied.
“She was supposed to remain isolated.”
“That sentence should have concerned more people.”
The fire chief began discussing permits.
The witch left.
Even evil has limits when paperwork becomes involved.
☎️ How to Reach Rapunzel Now
Rapunzel did not cut her hair.
There was nothing wrong with her hair.
The problem had never been its length.
The problem was that everyone treated it like a staircase.
She gathered it carefully and pinned it into a towering sculptural arrangement that rose above her head in a magnificent golden wave.
It was dramatic.
Architectural.
Completely useless as a ladder.
The prince, still adjusting to the fact that the fire department had replaced destiny, asked how he was supposed to see her now.
Rapunzel adjusted her towering B-52s-style updo, looked down at him, made the little banana-phone hand gesture, and said:
“Use the phone.”
For the first time, reaching her required contact.
Not access.
That is a useful distinction.
Independence should not require damaging the part of yourself everyone finds useful.
Sometimes freedom is not cutting it off.
Sometimes freedom is deciding that it is no longer public property.
💇 Crumb of Meaning:
Independence should not require damaging the part of yourself everyone finds useful. Sometimes freedom begins when people stop treating your strength like public property.
🤖 Disclaimer:
This account was assembled from fairy-tale memory, questionable architecture, ladder anxiety, and assistance from artificial intelligence. Human hair should not be used as transportation, emergency access, or a substitute for calling ahead.
🚒 Serving Suggestion:
Consume at ground level with comfortable shoes, a charged phone, and a fire department willing to preserve your life while rearranging your dignity.
If you don’t know by now that you should buy the t-shirt, I don’t know what to tell you.
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Coming Soon!
The book you didn’t know you needed… because denial is one of your core coping skills.
The astute among you may notice the cover has slightly changed.
BEHIND THE SCENES
