But then…the big clock started striking twelve. The magic was ending! That’s when the beating started. It gave me a headache, pounding up the gravel of the garden path, skidding along the polished ballroom floor, stampeding up the steps. Whoever designed that palace was definitely not a shoe!! But who am I to fuss? If I was about to go back to being dressed in filthy rags in front of several hundred snobs (with huge feet, I might add) I would run, too.
But the prince didn’t seem to understand the point of her running away. As in, hey it was a nice evening, but maybe I want to be alone when my carriage goes back to being a vegetable. (Apparently, someone had warned the poor girl against trying to explain magical carriages on the first date. Good for them, whoever it was!) But could the prince politely go back inside and try the eclairs from the buffet? No! The prince was chasing us! Run, Cinderella! Run!
And in my excitement—I did the unthinkable. I fell off of Cinderella’s foot. There was a sickening moment in the air where I could hear Right’s gasp and then a THUD against the stone step. I think that the only reason I didn’t break is that, like most pretty females, I’m stronger then I look. But in that moment, I wished I had broken. I was a disgrace to shoes everywhere. I had let Cinderella down (literally, seeing as I’m a high heel).
“What’s this?” said a soft voice. I knew that voice! I knew those leather boots with a scuff on Right’s nose! It was the prince!
After that I hung out while there was a lot of scurrying around and melodrama. I’m just saying, one dance and an almost kiss really shouldn’t turn a whole castle upside down. What would happen if they had a full-scale war? And then came the kicker--the prince was going to marry whoever could put me on. Me. What were they thinking!? I mean, size four and a half is pretty rare. But what if the prince just happened to rule the only kingdom with a psycho who had tiny feet? This wasn’t going to do, not at all. I wasn’t going to go on any foot but Cinderella’s.
I know I should be polite, and say something nice about how everyone is unique and beautiful in their own way. But I am going to be transparent—hey, I’m made of glass, after all! When you’ve seen one thousand eight hundred and sixty left feet, they all look the same: ugly. You know what that kingdom needed? A good podiatrist. And a public foot washing station. And maybe a tad bit of wart zapper—a tad as in, three or four gallons. I hadn’t needed to give myself that heroic, you’ll break before you belong to anyone else, speech. I don’t think there was anyone under a size six, much less a four and a half. (Lucky for the prince. Imagine if Cinderella had just happened to have size seven feet? Or eight and a half? What then, huh?)
We finally got to the last house, and then…I met the stepsisters. Wow. Their feet are so ugly, even their momma doesn’t want to see them! And the shenanigans they went through trying to get me on their foot—I get nightmares just thinking about it. I didn’t fit, even a blind man could see that!
The stepmother started doing the whole “no, there are no other maidens in my house” bit. Seriously? If the prince had fallen for that, he would have been dumber than the stepsisters.
There she was! My Cinderella!! I went on in a flash when the prince knelt to help her. There wasn’t any other foot in the kingdom that I would have rather seen.
Now I spend my days hanging out on a velvet cushion, making snide comments about the peasants that come visit me in the palace. (Their faces! And I thought their feet were ugly!) I guess life may be pretty easy, after all.