This Halloweekend, I dressed up as everyone’s childhood nightmare — you guessed right, I dressed as Cinderella— the prettiest, baddest bitch in town!
Last Friday, I showed up for The Calendar’s annual Halloween party in a blue shimmery gown, feeling all princessy, and scanned my surroundings for interesting prospects (read: hot guys). Much like poor Cinder on meeting Lady Tremaine for the first time, I was left disappointed. Just as I was about to accept defeat and glide into the suffocating crowd of people dancing all around me, I saw him.
He entered the party with his perfect blue eyes, silky, gorgeous, sexy blonde hair and effortless charm. As soon as my eyes met his — I knew I was in love! I danced with Prince Charming throughout the night and boy did he live up to his name. After a dreamy hour filled with dancing and violin music playing a ballad just for us, he started leaning in for a kiss. But alas, the alarm on his phone went off. It was 11:55 p.m. and he had to run (to catch the 68) to get back to his dorm before midnight.
I probably should have been offended that he chose the warmth of the 68 over a perfect kiss with me, but I couldn’t help it. I was head over heels (glass heels that I chose over my comfy slippers because apparently, I am the only one who likes suffering in love).
I ran after him, but I couldn’t stop him. As he was climbing up the steps next to the Nest, his perfect mane of hair fell off his head. What the hell? He was wearing a wig all along,
But, don’t worry, this isn’t a red flag, because by this time I had fallen for the person he was, and not the presence or absence of luscious hair on his head. I held on to the ultra realistic lump of (human?) hair, the only possession of his I had.
This was five days ago, and I have spent every day since trying to track down my prince. But, since I have no possible way of recognizing him without his wig, I’ve started to barge into residence commonsblocks to plop the wig onto the heads of unsuspecting hotties, causing myself to be banned from certain residence commons blocks. Maybe I should’ve worn a disguise, like a mustache on a stick. But whatever, I haven’t let this stop me.
Yesterday, I hosted a pizza party at the Marine Drive Ballroom, to try to find the long-lost love of my life. All students had to do to get a slice of pizza was to put on the wig and twirl me around the ballroom. Hundreds and hundreds of students showed up, but none of them turned out to be my Prince Charming.
So, I have exhausted all my options, and now all I can do is wait.
Charming, if you are reading this, please come find me. I know we have something special and are destined to be together. You can find me talking to the raccoons on Main Mall, or sneaking into residences (that I’m banned from) with a wig in my hand and a fake mustache above my lip. So find me, my love! If the wig fits, we can have our happily ever after.
The Dingbat is The Ubyssey's humour section. Send pitches or completed pieces to email@example.com.