Aschenputtel (Cinderella)

Once upon a time there was a young woman named Aschen

who lived with two roommates, whom she loved very much. They had a big house in the east end of the city with a garden. They were happy.

One day, one of Aschen's roommates moved out and was never heard from again, breaking Aschen's heart. To make matters worse, her other roommate invited three rich bitches to move in. After a while he moved out, leaving Aschen alone with them.

They had nothing in common. It wasn't that Aschen was poor; she just had to work a lot to pay off her student debt and lived in a perpetual state of frugality. To help her out, the three rich bitches lowered Aschen's rent in exchange for her taking the tiny basement room and doing extra housework.

One day the rich bitches got invited to the most exclusive party in town. Being the twenty-something human she was, Aschen naturally wanted to go with them, but they flaunted their invite over her. Then, noticing Aschen was highly dexterous with an artful eye, they suggested she help them tailer their outfits and maybe, just maybe, they would extend an invite to her.

On the day of the party Aschen stitched and hemmed as the trio dragooned her in the name of fashion. Alas, still no invite. The rich bitches were, in fact, bitches.

As the door slammed in her face, laughter trailing down the driveway, Aschen straightened her shoulders, brushed back her hair, and thought, to hell with those bitches. She walked down to the Hazel Tree Thrift Shop, spend a completely sensible amount on a gold-coloured vintage frock and matching shoes, took them home, pulled out her crafting kit, and pinterested the crap out of them.

Slipping on her shoes, she grabbed her bus pass and high-tailed it towards the west end. Walking up to the party, she sashayed towards the catering door, gracefully weaved through the buffet trays, grabbed an artisan sausage on a skewer, and stepped into the party while successfully avoiding the bouncer.

Midway through a bubbly cocktail she noticed someone walking towards her and desperately tried to keep it together.  She knew who this was: the good-looking guy with the perfect smile who hailed from the North Shore from parents who named their kids after icons and fruit. This was Prince, and it was his party.

He asked her to dance; she accepted. They talked about cat cafes and the current political climate. They were so caught up in their conversation that he forgot to ask her name and she forgot to get his number. All that mattered was the magic of the dance floor.

Until the last nightbus was scheduled and Aschen said she had to leave, and transited home.

Two weeks later, the rich bitches got another invite to a Prince party and still refused to let Aschen go with them. After they departed for the party, Aschen filled a bucket with beet juice, dunked her gold dress, and bussed to the party in a wine-coloured frock and her golden slippers, hoping the trio was as drunk as last time and wouldn't remember her being at a party for which she had no invitation.

After proving to Prince that she could, in fact, outdrink him in bubbly cocktails, they hit the dance floor. It was as if no one else mattered. They danced all night.

Until the last nightbus was scheduled and she turned to rush out of there. Knowing she couldn't afford a cab, she scurried her drunken self down the steps but in the process lost her shoe. No damn time, she thought, the nightbus waits for no one.

When Prince went after her, all he found was a golden slipper on his steps. What am I supposed to do with this? He thought, clouded with cocktail logic. Try it on every girl in the city and see who it fits, for surely I'll find the love of my life?

Serendipitously he spotted her wallet sprawled on a step a few feet away, sparkling in the moonlight like a sign from the universe.

The next morning, Prince showed up at Aschen's door. The rich bitches were speechless. Aschen, bed-headed and slightly hungover, thanked him for returning her wallet and shoe. Prince, overcome with delusional impulsivity, told Aschen he thought she was the most wonderful, funny, beautiful, smart, enchanting woman he had ever met, and to prove true love wasn't a dying construct, she should come live with him in the west end and they could talk and dance to their hearts' content.

Aschen looked at the three shocked rich bitches, shrugged her shoulders, and asked how much the rent was.

Then she moved in. And they lived happily. For a while. With rent control.

What kind of shoes are worth missing the nightbus for? Pipe up in the comments section.