Miss Benderyeller leaned on her broom and faced her auntie. She was exhausted after working from dawn to nearly dusk.
She stamped her foot and said, “Not fair, Auntie. I’ve slaved for you for years, and have never been to a Royal Ball. Can’t I go tonight?”
“Very well,” relented her auntie. “But you’ll have to wear left over clothes–and if anyone asks you to try on a glass slipper, you must say it isn’t yours.”
“I shall!” Miss Benderyeller said. Then to herself: “I’ll tell the Prince it isn’t mine, but that it fits me like a glove!”