A young girl of 7 or 8 randomly was walking on the other side of the road in the pitch black at 8pm at night and upon seeing me, frightened her mother to death and making me beam from ear to ear by shouting "Oh my goodness IT'S CINDERELLA!"
I felt wonderful :) :) Cinderella had arrived at the Ball.
Reality of the Glamour:
I had half an hour to change from a clown in the pitch black in the car park and had to, very unladylike hoist up of my huge princess underskirt underneath the lovely Cinderella dress in the rain, next to my 'please don't let the dress touch it' vehicle and god hoped my wig was on right so I didn't get the never ending 'is that your real hair? I can see your brown hair at the back!' questions.
Upon finishing the party, which I might add seemed a success! I clambered into my car, laden with too many bags - with the bubble machine, stereo, magic kit, pass the parcel, prizes etc. (Don't you hate it when your partner is right when he tells you you should consolidate the bags - 'it's ridiculous carrying them like that.' Grr.)
What does a Princess of The Cinderella calibre do after the Ball?
She goes to Chicken Cottage of course. Yes. I was that random lady in the limp Princess dress ( without the underskirt) with UGG boots on and flat wig hair ordering some spicy wings.
Arriving home just before Midnight mind. Can't turn into a Pumpkin now can we?