A tea party? How quintessentially English! It was served promptly at 4, alongside scones, finger sandwiches, and, of course, a few pastries. Everyone was dressed to impress, and we all just stared in awe of each other for awhile, surprised how good we could all look if we only tried. Pinkies up everyone! After three cups of tea, each with a splash of milk and two sugar cubes, and plenty of delicious treats, it was time to go to the ballet. Watching graceful ballerinas twirl around the stage with perfect extension, their sparkling costumes sending glitter into our eyes while their silk shoes lifted effortlessly off the floor, a fundamental question drifted into my mind: is this my life?
And then I realized, my entire time in London I have been inhabiting someone else's life. A generous and mysterious fairy godmother came to me one night in January, turned a pumpkin into a plane ticket, and off I went to the best ball I’ve ever attended. I found my rags replaced by fashionable London clothing, and I no longer had to work. I danced the nights away in various pairs of slippers, and although none of them were glass, they were still magical. I was allowed entry into the elite world of foreign travel, fine dining, and leisure. I met a handsome prince who swept me off my feet, took me to Paris, and we lived as happily as any ever-after could ever be. I ate green beans, regularly, something I’ve never done before. I had a tan (for about 2 days, but still!). I walked across Abbey Road. I pet a Dalmatian in a fancy restaurant. Birds landed on my hand like I was a Disney princess. I met the most wonderful people, people I could never get sick of who were always around and ready for adventures. Another fairy godmother, Brit, would meet us on weekends and take us to magical places, telling us about all their wonderful secrets. A seemingly grumpy troll, Simon, would also lead us through the dark streets of London, but we soon discovered he wasn’t a grumpy troll at all, but a kind and gentle giant whom we’ve come to love dearly. I lived in a palace…well, I lived across from a palace in the nicest part of town. I took mini-break holidays to Spain. I lived like a princess.
But the midnight hour of my ball approaches, and soon my fashionable clothes will turn back to work uniforms, my plane ticket will turn back into a pumpkin and I’ll be back in my old life. Worst of all, I’ll be found out. Everyone will know that wasn’t my life to live, that I never did anything to deserve the glamorous life of another. No, I have no evil step-mother or evil step-sisters. No, my father is still alive, and my prince charming knows my name. But never again will I get to have 4 o’clock tea in a fancy hotel, take weekend trips to ancient sites, or attend a ballet on a Wednesday. I won’t get to sit around and leisurely chat with friends. I won’t get to wake up early on Sundays for markets full of beautiful trinkets. But like Cinderella, I’ll always have my memories of the glorious ball I was never meant to attend, but by some miracle did.
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