I've often thought that the story of Little Red Ridinghood is an analogy to the human condition. Like her "grandmother," we are all wild creatures beneath our clothes.
Our clothes are the cultural roles we take on, "mother" being one of them. We all know what a mother's roles is: kind, loving, supportive, etc. But I don't think any of us can escape the fact that beneath the stereotype, which most of us try our darndest to fulfill, we are ourselves, our naked, feral, savage selves. Yes, darling children, I carry anger, spite, even malice, within me.
I must tell you that when I proposed this theory to a psychologist I was seeing at the time, she gave me a look of absolute horror and set up several more sessions.