Your fairy godmother hasn’t a clue.
One of your sisters is wicked, but the other one’s actually quite nice and lends you her vegan purple sparkle Doc Martens whenever you want.
Your pumpkin doesn’t turn into anything since your American friend warned you that pumpkin pie makes you boff.
Your mice live in an old upright Hoover in the cupboard under the stairs. You moved it once and they flew out of the hose like tiny brown fluffy cannon balls and you stood on your IKEA coffee table and tried not to scream.
You don’t want to go to the ball anyway. The last time you went to the ball you were groped by Cyril from accounts, necessitating a swift manoeuvre involving a half-empty bottle of Cava, one of those gold-painted chairs and your knee.
Your slippers are pink fluffy ones from Marks and Spencer’s and are easily big enough for most people in your town including the postman.
You have a perfectly good carriage, i.e. a 1996 purple Nissan Micra 1litre Auto, which you wouldn’t change for the world.
Your prince rode off in the wrong direction and quite frankly you were glad to see the back of him.
Louisa Campbell lives in Kent, England, where she makes a living burgling jelly moulds and writing poetry. There’s more info. on the latter at https://louisacampbellblog.wordpress.com/about/