Prince Valium (continued)
"Sure, why not?" you tell him.
The old man sighs in relief and smiles warmly at you.
"You can never know just how deeply I thank you," he says.
"Cinderella is one of the finest women I know, and it saddens me to know what her family situation is like."
You frown thoughtfully, wondering what kind of trouble the girl is in.
"Domestic abuse," he confides in a lower voice.
"Stepmother.
You know the deal.
And such a wonderful person, too--Cinderella.
I have a portrait of her to give you."
He lowers the sack that he's been carrying around down to the ground and rummages within it.
The first thing he pulls out is a wallet-sized picture of Cinderella, which he hands to you.
Your stomach drops, and your heart slams.
Cinderella is possibly the most beautiful woman you have ever seen.
The picture shows you a sweet-looking, violet-eyed female with hair so fair, the only words you can come up with to describe it are "angel blonde".
Her nose and chin are small-boned and delicate, hinting at dainty hands and feet, and you think to yourself,
She would be a stunning Princess Mrs. Valium.
Hmm... you should probably change your name first, you guess.
"Where can I find her?" you ask the old man breathlessly.
"Well," he says, "if all goes well with my wife's plans, Cinderella will be at the ball hosted by the Charmings.
But she doesn't have an escort, and that simply won't do.
So you'll be her date.
You'll meet her at the front door, before entering the ball--she has the invitation, and you really can't go in without her.
When she comes up, you tell her that her godmother arranged for you to be her date so that she's not alone there.
Then you go in with her.
Simple as that.
"You have a tux, right?"
You nod.
"Sure I do, and I'll wear it.
But is there anything else I should bring other than flowers?"
You hope flowers will make a good impression on Cinderella--Cindy.
You consider calling her Cindy.
It's more intimate, personal.
The old man considers the question for a moment and looks into his sack again.
"Hmm. I have a couple of things you can choose from and bring, if you like."
He slowly pulls out a shoehorn and a revolver and shrugs.
A shoehorn and a gun?
You look at him as though he's crazy, but he doesn't seem fazed.
"Pick one or the other, but not both," he tells you.
"Or, if you want, you don't have to pick anything at all."
You look at the two items in his arthritic hands and tell him...
