DAVE WAGAR – WRITER – “CITRONELLA AND THE FOOT PRINCE AT THE GLASS SIPPER”

Once upon a time there was a beautiful, intelligent, but unfortunate, young woman named after an insect repellant – Citronella.  Her mother died when Citronella was born.  Her father married a selfish, nagging woman with two selfish, disagreeable grown daughters.  After a few years of acute, chronic henpeck trauma, father turned selfish himself and fled, leaving poor Citronella to cope as best she could.  

Stepmother organized the household chores.  Stepsisters dressed themselves and put on their own make-up, Stepmother did the shopping, and Citronella did all the rest.  She cooked, cleaned, did the laundry, mowed the lawn, weeded the garden, and carried out the trash.  After Citronella finished high school, Stepmother made her get a job at Bubba’s BBQ, but didn’t let her keep the money she earned. 

Meanwhile, Stepsisters commuted to an expensive private college and set out to find themselves husbands who would indulge their whims.  Their favorite weekend spot for husband-hunting was the Glass Sipper, a nightclub topped by a hideous sign with a neon outline of a face sipping from a martini glass over and over and over.  The “Sip”, as people called it, had dancing to live music on weekends, drinks and bar food every night, and of course single young men.  None of the men ever asked a Stepsister for a date, but a few would dance with them when there was a shortage of attractive, agreeable women.

Citronella often slipped out of the house at night after her chores were done and walked to a little park next to the Sip.  There she’d listen to the dance band and watch dimly lit dancers swirl and bob about.  She dreamed of going to the club and dancing with a kind and handsome young man.  When she asked Stepsisters if they would take her, they laughed and told her she was too ugly and had nothing to wear.

They didn’t know she’d saved some tip money from Bubba’s and was ready to shop for a second-hand dance outfit at Thrift Village.  On the way home from work one Friday, she went inside the Village and, with the help of a kind clerk named Faery Goodmama, picked out a fancy, hardlyworn dress.  But shoes were a problem.  They had to be fashionable enough to go with the dress, sturdy enough to dance in, and the right size.  She finally found some heels that could be polished to look OK, but they were cheaply made, so she’d have to be careful, especially with the spindly heels.  

Faery Goodmama offered her a ride to the club that evening since she was meeting friends there herself.  Citronella agreed to meet her at Thrift Village at 8:00.  Faery said, ”I’ll be driving my brother’s orange minivan we call “The Pumpkin”.  It’s ugly, but it’ll get us there.  Just one thing — I’ve got to leave by no later than midnight to relieve my babysitter.  If you’re not ready to leave at midnight, I’ll have to go without you.”  It was raining steadily as they drove to the Sip.  Walking home without a raincoat or umbrella didn’t sound good for her new dress – or for her.

When they got to the Sip, Faery joined friends at a large table and found an empty chair for Citronella on the side nearest the dance floor.  “When the band starts up, just get up and dance on your own a little,” Faery advised.  “Some stud-ly guy will see you and you’re off!”  Citronella was a bit shy about dancing alone, but it was dark, and the floor was quickly full of people.  Sure enough, a nice-looking young man came up to her and asked her to dance.  They danced the fast numbers.  They also danced the slow numbers.  When the band stopped for a break, he took her over to his table to meet his friends.  On the way she told Faery where she was going.  Faery reminded her “Midnight sharp, OK?”  “OK, I’ll be there.”

At his table, the young man’s friends called him “Foots”.  “Is that your real name?” asked Citronella. “No, my parents named me after my father, Englebert.   Grandmother named him after her favorite pop singer.  I used to go by “Junior” or “Sonny”.  I even tried “Bert” for a while, but Sesame Street spoiled that one.  My friends call me Foots because they think it’s funny that my career is in shoes.  I’m vice-president and sole heir of the family business, a shoe factory and a chain of stores named Sole-Mates. I’m kind of a prince of shoes – or maybe ‘foot prince’.”  Everyone groaned.

When the band came back, Citronella and Foots danced again – slow and close.   Even when the band played fast tunes, they slow danced.  Foots kissed her gently on the lips, and when she opened her eyes, she was staring at a big digital clock over the bar – 11:56!  “I gotta leave right now!” she said, pulling away from him.  She ran out onto the terrace and saw Faery getting into the Pumpkin.  Foots ran after yelling, “Citronella! “Wait!  I don’t have your number!”

Halfway to the Pumpkin one of her heels broke.  She slowed down just enough to pull off both shoes and throw them into the bushes.  She now sprinted through the muddy little park barefoot.  As she squished up to the Pumpkin, Faery was just starting the noisy engine.  Citronella banged on the door just in time to get a ride home.  Foots was close enough to see the orange minivan drive away.

The next day Foots went into little park next to the “Sip” and found muddy footprints and some discarded flimsy high heels.  At one of his family’s shoe stores he picked out some fashionable, well-made heels to take their place.  But how was he to find her again?  For days he looked for the orange minivan, driving up and down for blocks in all directions.  Finally, on the following Friday he saw the Pumpkin in the Thrift Village parking lot.  He asked around and soon found the driver was a woman he had often seen at the “Sip”.  Faery Goodmama was glad to help him find Citronella.

He was holding the new shoes as he rang her doorbell.  Stepsister One answered and saw the shoes.  “Are those for me or my mom or my sister?” she asked.  “That depends on which one is Citronella,” he answered.  “What do you want with her?” asked the astonished Stepsister One.  “I danced with her at the “Sip” last Friday and fell in love with her.  She lost her shoes and I’m replacing them. Then I’m taking her dancing if she’s willing.” 

“CITRONELLA! Get out here!  Where are you?” Stepsister One bellowed.

Citronella appeared in ragged jeans and a faded, oversize sweatshirt.  “I was just scrubbing the – Oh, Foots!  What are you doing here?”  

He held out his arms. “Your Foot Prince followed your footprints and found your shoes.  If these new ones fit, we can go dancing tonight anywhere you want. Do you still have that pretty dress you wore last week?”

Just then Stepmother came down the stairs followed by Stepsister Two.  “What’s going on here? Who are you?  Citronella’s not going anywhere until she finishes her chores.”

“I’m afraid Citronella won’t be available to do chores anymore.  I’m hoping we’ll get married soon and live happily ever after in my big mansion on Castle Hill, where she’ll be free to continue her education and pursue her passions.”

“But what’s to become of us?” Stepmother wailed.  “We can’t take care of ourselves.  Honestly!  After all I’ve done for that ungrateful girl!”

“I’ll hire a cook and a housekeeper for you,” offered Foots.  “How’s that?”

Stepmother sensed a deal in the making.  “How about yard work?”

Foots chuckled.  “You all look like a little outdoor exercise would be good for you.”

*********

As Citronella goes to change into her dancing dress, we are left wondering what happened ever after.  Here are some discussion questions:

1.  Did Citronella marry the prince?  Does it matter?

2.  Did Citronella and Foots live happily ever after?  If they did, what does that mean?  

3.  What could have caused their romance to get off on the wrong foot?

4.  Had they built a foundation for mutual devotion, respect, and support after dancing together once?

5.  What passions did Citronella pursue?  …beside Prince Foots?

6.  Once they get on their feet, should Citronella and Foots invite the step-relatives to dinner at Castle Hill?  What should they serve?  Who should cook?