Slinking amongst the overly bedazzled crowd, I slide my way to the bar, careful not to trip on my Cinderella slippers and long velvet gown.

While the shoes aren’t glass, they may as well be; they are clear, tall Lucite, more like stripper shoes than fairy-tale-princess footwear, but they seemed like fun, a modern twist on everyone’s favorite orphan. The fact that I’m at the party at all is only a testament to my friendship with Marlene, a.k.a. Princess Leia, who keeps swooping in and out carrying trays of food and admonishing people not to remove their costumes. She had a strict admittance policy and, fearing that I wouldn’t get in, I adhered to it, even though I wasn’t even sure I was in a party mood. Nothing like the chance of not getting in to make me want to be part of an inner... Read More