No fit for the glass slipper

The difference between Cinderella and me is that her fairy godmother is able to successfully transform her from scullery maid to diva, and then our heroine carries it off. Me? Well, you can dress me up but I still look like I just rolled out of bed.

And so with an element of futility in mind, I primped for a girls' night. I wore a skirt (suitable for a PTA meeting), loafers and put on more makeup than usual (this means I used eye shadow). My companions looked stunning, decked out for a night on the town in fun party attire and further dwarfing my 5' with heels. I looked waifish, and not in a Kate Moss heroin sheik sort of way. The evening was a clash of Sex in the City and little orphan Annie.

Off like a bandaid

About to run out the door for the school's annual ladies' night, when I feel a run in my panty hose creeping down my leg. I dash upstairs and see the damage is pretty extensive, but it's my only pair of champagne hose and I don't have another outfit plan. I apply liberal amounts of nail polish and hope for the best. The "bandage" held. And it's a good thing I had shaved a winter's worth of hair from my legs earlier in the week, or peeling the hose off would have hurt like an mfrer.