My sweet Sven and I have been invited to a ball. "What's that Louisa?" Oh. My wicked step sister says it is not a ball. It is a wedding. And it is not that big a deal. The whole family is invited. And that she is not wicked or a step sister. Well, it is a big deal. Our nephew is getting married. Anyway. My sweet Sven and I are invited to a wedding. So, I have been shopping. I put the most beautiful hunter green vintage floral dress into my shopping cart and clicked on proceed to checkout. And then one day it arrived. It looked exactly like the picture. Gorgeous. Especially hanging on a hanger. And then I tried it on. Well. Good news. I am not easily deterred. All I needed was a couple leg extensions and a corset and I would look just like the model on the website. I went out and purchased a pair of high heels. And spanks panty hose. "And just how in God's name are you planning to walk in those things?" says Louisa. Sometimes she cannot see the big picture. Those glass heels got me up to a full five feet four and a half inches. I just needed a few more. "Louisa," I said. "It'll be easy to walk in them as soon as I have a glass of wine." If I ever get my ass all the way into that pair of spanks, I will let you know if they work. I got real close once. But. Now about those three extra inches. I summoned my seamstress. "What's that Louisa?" Oh. Giselle is my friend. And she happens to be very talented with a needle and thread. She is going to make me look taller by making that dress of mine land above my knees. "There is a fine line between frumpy and classy," she told me. And I was about three inches over it. Sven now owns a suit. That was a fun shopping day. Because he loves to shop. And he adores ties and royalty and such. He is a regular Prince Harry. And he is going to be so handsome the night of the ball. I can hardly wait to pull up to the palace in our golden carriage. Or as Louisa may see it, an economy Uber. This is all so exciting. I feel just like Cinderella. Well, I did. Until the other night. When I slipped, or maybe I tripped. I think it was both. I would make a terrible witness. All I know is, I was down. And Sven had to help me into the house. "How's your ankle?" he asked the next morning. "It is killing me." "Are you going to the doctor?" "No. Can't. Bev is making something with curry in it," I said, and went out the door. I am all about priorities. But there are some things you cannot simply wish away. Many things. Like. Oh. So. Many. And sons du les bitches. This was one of them. So, the following day I made an appointment. And then a handsome young doctor sent me home in a monster boot. And the woman who fitted me said I should wear a tennis shoe on my other foot. "Yes," I said. "But you see, I will be attending a ball." And she repeated, "Tennis shoe." Why is it that some people have fairy God mothers and others have to wear a cast every time they are invited to a ball? It was the same thing eighteen years ago when my son Marques married his sweetie, Nicolette. However it was a snapped Achilles tendon for that occasion. It happened while mountain biking. Which was more exciting than tripping on a step. The white plaster of Paris cast at the time however came with a built in two inch heel. It was basically a go-go boot without all the fringe and I was forced to wear a high heel on my other foot or else I was lopsided. This worked nicely for the wedding. It was perfect for dancing at the reception. But after that it got old real fast. With just a couple of days until the ball, I am fine tuning my outfit. "What's that Louisa?" I mean wedding. I don't feel like Cinderella anymore. I feel like Minderella. "What's that Giselle?" Oh. Giselle says I am lucky. She would rather feel like Minderella than Minderella's peasant seamstress. Hmmm, that may be something worth contemplating. Perhaps as I am being hand fed grapes tonight while my bath is being drawn, I will ponder on it. But for now I am going to need a little help getting into these spanks. "Sven?!" Now where did he disappear to? Where did everybody go?