My name is Ariel, I was a little red-haired mermaid who traded her voice for a pair of legs and fell in love with a human prince. That’s right, that’s the story they told you. But let me tell you, things were a lot more complicated down here in the deep blue sea.

First of all, I didn’t just wake up one day and decide, “Oh, I want legs so I can walk around with a guy I’ve never even met.” No. The underwater scene? It’s kinda boring. Sure, the coral reefs were pretty, and singing with fish was fun for a while, but after a few hundred years, you start wondering what’s out there. And let’s face it, I had six sisters, and sharing the bathroom with them? Not fun. I was like, “Okay, land people have legs and private bathrooms, that’s the life for me.”

Now, let’s talk about the Prince. The guy was cute, sure, but was I in love with him at first sight? Nope. I was just curious. This dude washed up on my beach, all unconscious and helpless. My first thought? “Does this guy not own a fork? His hair was a mess!” But then I thought, hey, he was human, and humans were interesting. So I saved him, did the whole “sing him back to life” bit, and swam off. Easy-peasy.

But here’s where things got complicated: my dad. The King. The guy was obsessed with keeping me under the sea, talking about how dangerous humans were. Dad, the most dangerous thing around here was Mr. Crabby, the Advisor, who wouldn’t stop nagging me about “responsibilities.” Anyway, Dad wasn’t too thrilled about my human obsession, and of course, that made me want legs even more.

Enter the Sea Witch. Now, let me just say that people called her the “Sea Witch,” but that’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think? She was more like your shady, but oddly charming, aunt. You know, the one who always had “great deals” but never told you the catch until it’s too late? That’s her.

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So, I went to her. Why? Because I was desperate for some new scenery and some actual shoes. The sea floor was all rocks and coral, it’s brutal on the fins. She was like, “Oh honey, I can totally give you legs, but you have to give me your voice.” And I’m thinking, “What do I even need my voice for? It’s not like Prince Charming was going to fall for me just because I could sing. He didn’t even know I existed!” Big mistake. A big, BIG mistake.

I got the legs. At first, I was all excited, like “Woohoo! I’m walking!” but then I realized—walking’s hard. My new legs? They were wobbly as seaweed in a hurricane. And shoes? Blisters for days. No one told me land people dealt with that. I was trying to impress the prince, but I was over here walking like a baby giraffe on roller skates.

Then there was the Prince. He was nice, don’t get me wrong, but the guy was oblivious. He was all like, “Oh, you saved me? Nah, it must have been some mystical sea maiden,” while I was standing right in front of him, mute, smiling like an idiot. I couldn’t tell him I had saved him because, you know, no voice. And what did he do? He took me around the castle and taught me to use a fork (yeah, I thought it was a hairbrush, sue me), and I was just trying not to trip over my own feet.

Oh, and then the Witch? She double-crossed me, of course. Showed up looking all glamorous, with my voice. And suddenly the Prince was like, “Wow, now this is the girl I’ve been looking for!” Ughhhh.

Long story short, we ended up in this big, dramatic showdown where I finally got my voice back, the Sea Witch got a ship shoved through her, and my dad showed up to fix everything. Turns out, Dad could’ve given me legs the whole time! Like, really, Dad? You couldn’t have just zapped me some legs instead of me making deals with octopus-witches?

In the end, I got my legs permanently, got married, and moved to land. But let’s be honest, no one told you that living on land isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sand got everywhere, and don’t even get me started on taxes. Sometimes, I missed the simplicity of the ocean. At least under the sea, you didn’t have to deal with insurance.

The moral of the story? Don’t make deals with witches, and for the love of Poseidon, keep your voice: you’ll need it to scream when you see the first property tax bill.

The end.