Everyone painted me as the “evil witch” who locked Rapunzel in a tower. I get it, I wasn’t great with people. But let me tell you what really happened.

Raising a teenager in a tower wasn’t as easy as it sounds. First of all, I didn’t just go around stealing babies for fun. No, Rapunzel’s parents basically handed her over after raiding my garden. My flowers. Not gold, not jewels—flowers. They were lucky I didn’t turn them into toads on the spot. Instead, I said, “Fine, I’ll take the kid.” I didn’t even want a kid. I just wanted some quiet gardening time! But I figured, how hard could it be? I’d raise her until she was an adult, boom, independent woman. Easy, right?

Wrong.

I built her a lovely tower with an amazing view, and all I asked was that she stay put. I mean, we were talking five-star-tower-worthy here. So what if I skipped the stairs? I was just keeping things simple; climbing her hair was easier than installing an elevator!

And did she appreciate it? Of course not. Teenagers, am I right? She was all, “But I want to see the world!” Sweetheart, the world is overrated. It’s mostly dirt, bad weather, and people who try to convince you to join their multi-level marketing schemes. Trust me, the tower was the place to be.

Plus, the hair? Let me tell you, her hair was magic. Not the kind of magic everyone talked about. No, this hair could handle anything. Rain, wind, me climbing up it daily. Have you ever climbed someone’s hair? Talk about a workout. Forget CrossFit; I was getting toned just by visiting her.

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But, of course, Prince Pretty Boy showed up and ruined everything. One minute, I was getting my daily hair-ladder workout, and the next, he was in there singing duets with Rapunzel! He waltzed in, sweet-talked Rapunzel, and suddenly she was all, “Oh, I want to leave the tower with him!” Uh, excuse me? You’d known this guy for like two minutes. I raised you for years, and this is how you repay me? Where’s the loyalty?

And, of course, Pretty Boy didn’t stop there. One day, he dared to suggest cutting her hair! The nerve! Are you kidding me? This hair was an architectural masterpiece. You don’t just chop down the Golden Gate Bridge because you decide to take a shortcut! Do you know how long it takes to maintain magic hair like that? We’re talking shampoo, conditioner, magic potions—the works. But no, Mr. “Let’s Cut the Hair” thought he knew better.

Then, she did it. She actually cut her hair and ran off with him. I stood there with a giant chunk of hair in my hands, looking like I just lost a tug-of-war match, and no one was around to keep me company. No goodbye, not even a thank you note for raising her to adulthood. Just gone.

So, there I was. Alone in the tower, holding enough hair to weave a dozen rugs, when I suddenly realized that maybe I was better off. No more climbing, no more whining about the outside world, no more hair care. It was quiet now; honestly, I’d earned some peace.

The moral of the story? Don’t steal a witch’s flowers, and if you do, raise your own kid. Or at least teach them to send a postcard when they run off with some prince. And for the love of all that’s magical, appreciate good hair care.

The end.