I grew up on Disney movies, princess stories, and nursery rhymes. The Little Red Riding Hood I remember was eaten by a wolf, and so was her grandmother, but there was a woodsman who arrived just in time to hack them out of the wolf’s belly, whole and intact. I never understood how that was supposed to work, but that’s how the story went. They were make-believe, after all. Besides, I’d like to think that despite growing up with these stories, I came out alright.