Disclaimer: I don't own Clinique. I just like the make-up.
Once upon a time there was a girl named Cinderella. No, it wasn't a cruel nickname thrown upon her by her wicked stepsisters mocking a life of servitude; her parents were just very eccentric and her blended family was actually very nice but Cinderella hadn't yet managed to bond with them. As for the life of servitude... she was just trying to work her way through college.
One day, some snot-nosed spoiled rich kid threw a huge ball to raise money for some vague cause (the guy just wanted girls to think he was nice and charitable). Cinderella was technically invited, but as the invitation was a singular summon pertaining to every single woman in the family, Cinderella felt slighted that she wasn't given full attention and put up the dramatics that she wasn't invited. So on the night of the ball, while Cinderella's sisters went, she sat around crying about how messed up her life was.
"Even though I live in an affluent nation where the standard of poverty is higher than what many citizens of third world countries enjoy and I have my health and a roof over my head, my life is horrible!" she moaned. "I wish my fairy godmother would appear so I don't have to be held responsible for any consequences I may have brought upon myself."
No sooner had she made this wish than the air shimmered before her and a middle-aged woman in a white lab coat and pink stilleto heels appeared.
Cinderella frowned. "You're not my fairy godmother; you look like one of the Clinique sales ladies!"
"Yeah, well, that's because I'm your fairy Clinique lady," Yvonne said (that's what her name tag read).
"But I wanted a fairy godmother to make me beautiful with a pretty dress!"
"That's what I'm here for!" Yvonne replied. "You've seen all the movies: all the ugly girl needs to be pretty is a professional make-over. So we let the fairy godmothers go work in women's crisis centers and homeless shelters where they're actually needed and let make-up ladies take over this business."
"Oh." Cinderella was still disappointed.
"Now," said Yvonne, pulling out a bag of samples. "Do you want the "natural look" and give into one of society's slyer tactics of making you fit to a particular image of beauty by making you feel bad for not fitting to the definition of natural beauty, or do you want to go with something fun and dramatic?"
Cinderella figured she might as well go all out.
"Good choice." And Yvonne really went all out. Cinderella looked like she just stepped off a street corner.
"Now for the dress." Yvonne pulled out a sales rack of marked-down dressed. "You really don't need an original. Take your pick. I recommend something that will accent your curves and actually make you look good instead of trying to pretend you are size 0."
Not to make fun of her body type, but Cinderella was not a size 0. Which is not a bad thing, because, hey, who is? But she really did not need to try and stuff herself into something slinky.
Yvonne sighed. "There really should be a weight limit on some of these styles."
But it was Cinderella's choice. So they hopped in Yvonne's Chevy and took off for the ball.
Cinderella looked so bad no one gave her a second glance. So she threw a fit in an embarrassing public display and badmouthed the host to his face. Needless to say, she was kicked out.
Cinderella went on to remain incapable of a relationship because she had such a rotten personality.
The spoiled rich kid married some nice spoiled rich girl who also liked to look impressive by donating money to vague causes and they both lived happily ever after until they got a divorce three years later.
The End!