paradises. The untouched sand and solitude would add these places to anybody’s bucket list, why aren’t they on mine? Because I live in a city edged by impossibly blue ocean and white sands, my preference is to experience the cold and rugged.
And I hate water.
I’d like to visit historical places. England. With my bucket list partner. Possibly.
My phone beeps.
Guy texts the link again and I glance around before clicking on the invite. My experience of balls is school formals. One school formal. A childish excitement harking back to childish dreams of being a princess accompany as I read the description and look at the photos. Ball gowns and beautiful people, mysterious Prince Charmings. I shake my head, well aware the thrill of disguise underlies the attraction of masquerade balls.
What would Guy look like in a suit? The image amuses me – the raw material of the casual Guy unimaginable in formal attire. Undoubtedly hot though. I dismiss the thought, Guy’s not interested in me, and we know too much about what’s wrong with each other.
I reply.
I smile at the text and return to the stock photo site and somehow find myself on Etsy, because going to a masquerade ball calls for research, obviously.
Chapter Nine
#6 Attend A Masquerade Ball
As a girl, I loved Cinderella. Absolutely adored the story, spent weeks with my head filled with the tale of the downtrodden girl and the handsome prince. My mum got sick of watching the Disney movie on repeat while I flounced around the house in a blue dress and tiara. Secretly, I wanted to be the fairy godmother because she could perform magic – I had plans for my cat that may or may not have involved dress-ups.
Then, one day I read the Brothers Grimm version of the fairy tale in which the ugly sisters cut off parts of their feet to fit into the glass slipper. The victim of an overactive imagination my whole life, this gave me nightmares for a week. That was the end of my love affair with Cinderella and all Disney princesses. Who knows what horrors lie in the other books?
This doesn’t stop me spending the next two weekends shopping for a dress any princess would be jealous of. Masquerade balls hold mystery and allure, a step out of reality and back in time. Eventually, I find a dress I can’t really afford. The dress hugs my hips, reaching the floor. The gathered gold bodice pushes my not very ample breasts upward so I look several sizes bigger, pulling in my waist to give me a classic hourglass figure. Silver thread runs from the seam, across the dress, and curling across one side of the bodice, sparkling like stars when the dress moves and catches the light. The shoes match perfectly, black and gold, adding several inches to my height. I spent an hour in the shop justifying buying everything. I told myself this is my bucket list and I should let go of the constraints I attach to myself, financial or otherwise
Choosing a mask was fun, I spent hours on Etsy looking for something different, and eventually, chose a Venetian gold butterfly mask where one eye spreads upwards in a butterfly shape, the wings touching the side of my pinned-up hair.
The evening of the ball, when I prepare to leave the house, Cam and Jen are in the lounge watching TV. Jen had helped me into the dress and enthused about the fit and quality, bemoaning the fact she couldn’t borrow it due to our height and build difference. Her track pants and oversized blue shirt are about as far removed from my outfit as you can find.
Cam stares as I walk in to say my goodbyes, rendered speechless for a moment. I place my phone into my gold bag then pick up the mask, avoiding his eyes.
I like Cam; he’s friendly and tempers Jen’s exuberance with his calm nature. Into the same scene as her, Cam has tattoos beneath his vintage black shirt and brown hair slicked upwards in a pompadour style. He’s a few years
And I hate water.
I’d like to visit historical places. England. With my bucket list partner. Possibly.
My phone beeps.
Guy texts the link again and I glance around before clicking on the invite. My experience of balls is school formals. One school formal. A childish excitement harking back to childish dreams of being a princess accompany as I read the description and look at the photos. Ball gowns and beautiful people, mysterious Prince Charmings. I shake my head, well aware the thrill of disguise underlies the attraction of masquerade balls.
What would Guy look like in a suit? The image amuses me – the raw material of the casual Guy unimaginable in formal attire. Undoubtedly hot though. I dismiss the thought, Guy’s not interested in me, and we know too much about what’s wrong with each other.
I smile at the text and return to the stock photo site and somehow find myself on Etsy, because going to a masquerade ball calls for research, obviously.
Chapter Nine
#6 Attend A Masquerade Ball
As a girl, I loved Cinderella. Absolutely adored the story, spent weeks with my head filled with the tale of the downtrodden girl and the handsome prince. My mum got sick of watching the Disney movie on repeat while I flounced around the house in a blue dress and tiara. Secretly, I wanted to be the fairy godmother because she could perform magic – I had plans for my cat that may or may not have involved dress-ups.
Then, one day I read the Brothers Grimm version of the fairy tale in which the ugly sisters cut off parts of their feet to fit into the glass slipper. The victim of an overactive imagination my whole life, this gave me nightmares for a week. That was the end of my love affair with Cinderella and all Disney princesses. Who knows what horrors lie in the other books?
This doesn’t stop me spending the next two weekends shopping for a dress any princess would be jealous of. Masquerade balls hold mystery and allure, a step out of reality and back in time. Eventually, I find a dress I can’t really afford. The dress hugs my hips, reaching the floor. The gathered gold bodice pushes my not very ample breasts upward so I look several sizes bigger, pulling in my waist to give me a classic hourglass figure. Silver thread runs from the seam, across the dress, and curling across one side of the bodice, sparkling like stars when the dress moves and catches the light. The shoes match perfectly, black and gold, adding several inches to my height. I spent an hour in the shop justifying buying everything. I told myself this is my bucket list and I should let go of the constraints I attach to myself, financial or otherwise
Choosing a mask was fun, I spent hours on Etsy looking for something different, and eventually, chose a Venetian gold butterfly mask where one eye spreads upwards in a butterfly shape, the wings touching the side of my pinned-up hair.
The evening of the ball, when I prepare to leave the house, Cam and Jen are in the lounge watching TV. Jen had helped me into the dress and enthused about the fit and quality, bemoaning the fact she couldn’t borrow it due to our height and build difference. Her track pants and oversized blue shirt are about as far removed from my outfit as you can find.
Cam stares as I walk in to say my goodbyes, rendered speechless for a moment. I place my phone into my gold bag then pick up the mask, avoiding his eyes.
I like Cam; he’s friendly and tempers Jen’s exuberance with his calm nature. Into the same scene as her, Cam has tattoos beneath his vintage black shirt and brown hair slicked upwards in a pompadour style. He’s a few years
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