I could pretend that my husband did not give me enough advance notice that he needed a date for a business dinner. However, that would force me to admit that I cannot grasp the concept of an annual event. No guarantee can be made that I would have used the additional preparation time wisely by bettering my posture or honing a new skill. The last time I felt like I had any sense of how to apply makeup was in the mid-eighties. That is not to say that my heavily black-lined eyelids, purple frost eye shadow and other brush strokes of completely unnatural colors looked fabulous, but my excuse was merely being a teenager. I never received any follow-up memos regarding what a presentable and stylish application of makeup entailed.
I assembled some supplies it seemed one needed to prepare for an evening of socializing with adults. My newly purchased dress was taken out of the rumpled ball I had left laying in the shopping bag, yet there was not a wrinkle to be seen. I was in love. As I glanced in the bathroom mirror, I was thankful for the color my sunburn had faded to, as I decided that the foundation bottle, with its ever-present threat of poorly blended lines, would not be necessary. I was slightly disappointed that my hair looked to be on wash twenty-six of a “washes out in twenty-eight washes” hair color cycle. The loose ponytail seemed like a possible hairstyle option to help combat any ill effects of the humidity in our area. However, on my head, with my beautician skills, that would have translated into just plain messy and deemed my mane a complete failure. I was, after all, trying to give the illusion that some effort had been made.
The mere fact that the dress required no ironing boosted its ratings and it was not terribly ill fitting. Suffice to say, I had spent thirty dollars on my new threads and I looked like about thirty bucks. I grabbed some lovely jewelry to accessorize, or at least use as a distraction. I have been known to let the success of my outfit rest on one spectacular bracelet. My standard black flats looked new and ready to go, just like in 2005 when I bought them. I made a mental note to consider the possibility that shoe styles have changed. The condition of my legs provided a much-needed distraction from the footwear. Perhaps I was going to need to get that beige cover-up after all to blend away some of the bruises and veins. Not enough time, nor product, was available for that project.
My husband came upstairs to share the bathroom mirror as he got himself ready to go. I was in the midst of pretending to concentrate very heavily on my mascara wand artistry. I felt myself tensing up at his complete disregard for the masterpiece I was nearly finished creating. Considering I had been upstairs barely twenty minutes, I realized my expectations were a little misguided.
Reality whispered a little something in my ear, as I headed downstairs to leave. The room full of people I did not know was not waiting to audition me, nor was my husband of nearly eighteen years. I smiled and reminded myself that there is only one place I should not be taken, and that is too seriously.
I am excited to be trying something new this week, and am dipping my toe in the Yeah Write challenge pool. Click the badge below to read some amazing entries.