The dress code was “Storybook Chic.” In regular girl language, that means “beautiful ballgown made of starlight and unicorn tears.” In my language, it means “what can I glue together before my mom finds out I raided her craft closet?”
Sure enough, the glitter glue was spreading like a sparkly disease. People were starting to freeze mid-duck-face.
In my bedroom (AKA the disaster zone)
She was dressed as Snow White. But like, expensive Snow White. Her dress was silk, her hair had its own gravity-defying sparkle, and she was holding a real apple.
Last night, I was peacefully sleeping (dreaming about a world where my little sister, Brianna, doesn’t use my art supplies to paint a mustache on my sleep mask), when I was rudely awakened by a THUD. dork diaries once upon a dork
“Then why is the glitter glue eating through the tablecloth?”
And then she disappeared in a puff of pencil shavings. The dress code was “Storybook Chic
“Nikki Maxwell!” she squeaked in a voice like a rusty flute. “I am Gladiola, the fairy of Un-fairy Tales. You have been chosen to attend the Once Upon a Time Ball at the Royal Storybook Palace!”