"Jerry Axmaker needs a date for our prom," said the voice on the other end of the line, "would you go with him?"

     "If Jerry wants to call and ask me himself, I'll consider it, Cle," I replied, "but I'm not going to accept a third-hand invitation!"

     Cleland was a good friend of mine and although we attended different high schools, I had seen him off and on throughout my senior year. Jerry was his best friend and the three of us had spent a lot of time "bumming around" together the previous summer when I was staying with my grandmother in their town. I couldn't imagine why Jerry didn't have a date; I had never noticed that he was shy and he was a really nice kid.

     "Uh, Cle said I should call to see if, uh, you'd go to the prom with me," Jerry stammered three days later. It certainly wasn't the most impressive or complimentary invitation I'd ever gotten. Maybe he was shy. I suppose it had been different when I was kind of "one of the guys."

     "I'd love to go," I answered this back-door invitation.

     "You would?" he sounded disbelieving and, at the same time, appreciative. "Uh, that's great!"

     "When is it?" I asked after a long silence.

     "Uh, it's two weeks from Friday. Uh, is that enough time?" A note of doubt and concern crept into his voice which comically suggested that if it wasn't enough time, he could somehow postpone the event for my convenience.

     "Sure, that'll be wonderful. What time should I expect you?"

     "Oh, uh, well, uh . . . I hadn't thought of that. I'll have to get back to you, OK? Oh, and I think we're supposed to have a late dinner somewhere afterwards . . . " his voice trailed off.

     "Sounds good," I told him, "just let me know what time, OK?"

     It was nice to be able to accept the invitation immediately knowing I didn't have to worry about a dress. My sister had been a prom princess three years earlier at a different school and her beautiful formal had hung in the closet untouched since then. I freed the dress from its plastic shroud and tried it on.

     The formal was eggshell white brocade satin, strapless and ballerina length. Worn under the skirt was a full and very heavy half-slip of matching slipper satin which made the dress full length. I weighed about fifteen pounds more than my slender sister so the bodice of the dress fit like second skin . . . and looked stunning. I preened in front of the mirror, realizing I wouldn't be able to breath deeply but the effect was worth it. Since I was also shorter than my beautiful and elegant sister, I was glad Mom had made the slip separate or the dress would have been too long. She had been afraid the weight of the slip would pull the top down. At any rate, it worked. Although I had never been a prom princess, I felt like a prom queen in that gorgeous dress.

     The big night arrived and I waited nervously for my date. I wore my hair long and it fell in soft waves around my naked shoulders. My little brother answered Jerry's ring and when he stepped into the room his mouth fell open. "You . . . you look so different!" he finally declared. I hadn't seen him since the months when we spent the summer in jeans, shorts and T-shirts; surely he had expected me to look different. I took his stare to be approval and felt rather smug at the sensation my dress was creating.

     I pinned a boutonniere on his lapel and, viewing my dress with some consternation, he finally relinquished my corsage to my mother who pinned it at my waist. Jerry had made reservations at the "Top of the Cosmo," an exclusive restaurant in Portland, and discussed with my parents a reasonable time to have me home.

     That dress had the same effect on Cleland when we arrived at the prom. I felt like Cinderella and had no lack of dancing partners. Since I didn't really know anyone, I was not reticent about dancing with anyone.

     "Look," Cleland said, cutting in to dance with me again, "I've asked a friend of mine to take my date home so I can take you home."

     "I'm going to dinner with Jerry," I answered, a bit confused.

     "It's OK," Cleland continued, ignoring my comment, "I already talked to Jerry and he knows you only came as a favor to me."

     "My daddy taught me", I stopped dancing so he would listen, "to go home with the boy I came with!" I was beginning to feel like a piece of property and it made me mad. It was also demeaning.

     "But you know how I feel about you," he insisted, "and I'm going to take you home. I've made plans."

     "Well, change them," now I was truly insulted, "because I have plans, too, and I'm going home with Jerry! Next time ask me first before you dare to presume or tell me what I will do."

     I assumed my haughtiest attitude and turned to stalk away in queenly fashion. I'd find Jerry right now and refuse to dance another dance with Cleland. Puffed up in self-righteous indignation I did not know that humility was looming large on the horizon.

     As I stormed across the temporarily empty dance floor, my slip suddenly slipped without warning. I found my high heels enmeshed in volummes of white satin, my slip a sea at my feet. Alone on the dance floor, it was impossible to discretely avoid public scrutiny. In desperation, I stooped and gathered as much of the offending slip as I could into my arms. Head down and bent to hold my burden, I charged through the throng of bystanders like a wide receiver through the defensive line: straight to the girls' bathroom, trailing six feet of satin behind me and having left my dignity in the middle of the floor.

     I locked myself in a stall to survey the damage and formulate a plan. For some unfathomable reason, the elastic at the waist of the slip had, at that precise moment, died. It hung out of one end of the casing like an ugly, limp shoe string.

     "Margaret?" a voice queried," are you in here? Jerry wants to know if you're OK."

     "I'm fine," In truth I was feeling panicked and close to tears. Where were those Fairy Godmothers when you needed them? What was I going to do? "Tell Jerry I'll be right out." I tried every alternative I could think of and finally simply tied the elastic tightly enough around my waist to hold up the heavy skirt. I had to stand very tall, keep my tummy pulled in and just barely breath. It hurt.

     Dancing actually helped because it gave me an excuse to keep my arms up and my waist stretched to its thinnest possible size. Sitting was unbearable.

     "Ready for dinner?" Jerry asked as the music for the last dance died away. I had not thought that far ahead. Just the thoughts of riding in the car made me cringe. Dinner was obviously out of the question.

     "I had so many refreshments," I said as convincingly as possible, "I don't think I could hold another thing." I smiled up at him hoping he would believe me and at least part of it was the absolute truth. "Maybe we could stop for something on the way home if you're hungry," I was hoping he wasn't.

     "You mean it'd be OK with you if we didn't go to Portland?" somehow there was too much eagerness in his voice. Did he want to get rid of me?

     "Sure," I replied, "I've had a wonderful evening. We don't need to spend all of your hard earned money at some over-priced restaurant."

     "That's great!" Jerry really was appreciative. He smiled at me in the same easy way he'd had all last summer.

     We ended up at the A & W with me sitting very tall and sipping ice water although a bit overdressed in a strapless formal amidst the football game crowd. And that's how I tell the story, too. Cinderella didn't loose her slipper; she lost her slip! The prince, who seemingly didn't notice (or maybe precisely because he had), never came looking for her. Nonetheless, he won Cinderella's undying gratitude for getting her home early before she was transformed without magic . . . into two pieces.