It was coming up to midnight, and the dancers in the large ballroom swayed, almost as if they were moving rhythmically with the swirling lights.  The dresses flared around them, the jewels flashed, and the music soared, and the young girl, barely out of her teens was transported to another place, another age, almost into a fairy tale.

The seconds ticked away until the hands on the large clock met, and the chimes rang out, barely heard above the music.

But the girl heard…

Frantically she tore herself away from the young man she had only met that night, but whom she felt she could spend the rest of her life with.

“I must fly!” she cried, “My stepmother will kill me!  I should have been home an hour ago.”  She took one last lingering look into his stunning green eyes, then turned and ran out of the ballroom into the foyer, collected a capacious bag from the cloakroom attendant, then raced down the steps onto the street outside.

“Oh no!”  She despaired as she realised that her last hope of transport home was disappearing around the far corner.  “That’s the last bus, and I don’t have money for a taxi.  Now what am I to do?”  There was only one thing she could do, and that was walk home.  What, in these shoes?  Better change into the ones she came in, she thought, much more practical than those bloody glass slippers.

Slipping off the instruments of torture, she laced her feet into a pair of ratty old sneakers, and stuffed the glass slippers into the bag.  Or she thought she did.  In the darkness, unbeknownst to her,  one of them fell into the grass beside the footpath, and was left there, to  gleam dimly in the light from the foyer.

Racing down the street, her skirt billowing around her, she soon disappeared from view.

As she expected, on arriving home, her stepmother asked her icily, “And what time do you call this?  I told you to be on the 11.30 bus.  That’s the last time you’re going out to a fancy dress ball, Rose Jenkins.  You’re grounded for a fortnight.  And get that dress off, you look ridiculous!”  She was working herself up into a proper tizzy, which escalated into a full-blown fit when she checked the bag.  “Where is my other shoe?  Oh no, what have you done with it?  I knew I shouldn’t have let you wear them, you careless little…” a vile enough epithet escaped her, and she wailed,   My precious glass slippers!”

“Oh come on Ma, they’re bloody Perspex.  Anybody would think they were Waterford crystal the way you’re going on.”

“Your Dad had them specially made for me as a wedding present, and they cost a fortune.  Where did you lose it?”

Rose forbore from retorting that if she knew where the shoe was, it wouldn’t be lost.  Why, oh why hadn’t she got the name and phone number of that wonderful bloke?

Meanwhile, back in the ballroom…

David Belcher tried frantically to push his way through the throng to follow his Cinderella.  He cursed as yet another pair of Dirty Dancers gyrated into his path.  He finally got past them, only to be confronted by a pair of 2 metre high chickens.

“’Here, watch who you’re shoving!” protested one.

“Oh go lay an egg!”  He retorted, “But get out of my way.  I have to find her!”

“You’ll find my fist if you keep pushing my bird around!”

Even in his hurry, David couldn’t let that pass.  “It’s Sheila, you prat, not a bird!  You’re in Australia now.”

“’Ere, how did you  know her name’s Sheila?  What’s going on?  I don’t like the look of this.  Have you been planning to steal my BIRD, you poncey prince?”

With that, he swung a punch which sent David crashing into Cleopatra, knocking her asp over teacup.  Now it was Mark Anthony’s turn.  He took one look at Prince Charming lying sprawled over Cleo, and roared, “Get away from her, you sex maniac!”  Hauling David to his feet, he promptly dropped him again with a roundhouse punch.

Luckily for David, a couple of hefty bouncers arrived, 2 punches too late for our hero, who was out for the count.

Ten minutes later, David woke to find himself lying on a couch in what turned out to be the ladies’ cloakroom.  Groaning in agony, he opened his eyes to see the Blues Brothers standing over him, with worry etched into their faces.

“You OK, DB?”

“Jason, Val, what are you doing here?’

“We heard the commotion, and came to see what was going on,” said Val.  “You seem to be alright, but you’re going to have a lovely shiner come morning.”

Struggling to sit upright, David’s memory came flooding back.  “Have you seen her?  Where is she?”

“Who, your Cinderella?  You were dancing with her all night.  Really fancied her didn’t you?  No, I didn’t notice her, sorry mate.”

“Val, I don’t suppose you know her name, do you?”

“No DB, she’s a stranger to me.  But you were with her all evening, surely you had the nous to ask her name  Even you couldn’t be that much of a drongo!”

“It was a game,” David reluctantly confessed.  “I didn’t want her to know my surname was Belcher until we got to know each other better, so I said let’s stay incognito, just like the real thing.  She thought it was real romantic like that.”

“She’s as daft as you are,”  said Jason.  “So how are you going to find her?”

“Ask around, I suppose.  Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They helped him to his feet, and steered him to the door.  “It’s too early to leave,” protested Val.  “We’ll put you in a taxi then come back inside.

“Some friends you are!”

They stood in the gloom at the foot of the ballroom steps, waiting for a taxi that might or might not turn up.  David, who was still feeling very wobbly, fell over onto the grass verge.

“Ow!” he yelled, and reaching below him pulled out a glass slipper that his brand new beloved had been wearing.  “Oh, how wonderful!  Now I can search the kingdom to find the girl who fits this shoe,” he declared grandly, sweeping his arm around in a vast gesture.

“Don’t be a prat all your life!” this from Jason, who was supposed to be his best friend.  “Why not text all your friends and ask if they know her?  Then you could go on Facebook and put the word out.  You could even advertise that shoe in the Lost and Found section.”

Val, ever more romantically inclined than Jason, suggested, “You could advertise in the local papers.  They have a singles’ section that she might read.  You’re bound to find her.  You were fated to be drawn together, both turning up at the dance as Cinderella and Prince charming.  It’s Kismet!”

“No, it’s DB’s taxi finally arriving!”  Shoving him through the rear door, they gave the driver his address, and watched as the tail lights disappeared down the road.

“Oh Jason!  How romantic.  Do you think they’ll ever find each other?”

“What, that dopey prat?  Nah, he’ll wake up in the morning and won’t even remember his own name.  He’s had a right skinfull.  He’ll probably leave that shoe in the taxi, and spend all day tomorrow wondering what the hell happened.  You know old Dave.  Come on, let’s get back inside, we still have plenty more dancing to do!”