Just Another Fairy Tale

Wow.

This week was a busy one. 

It was mostly joyfully busy - full of celebration and school-done"ness."  But I still have that achy feeling in the back of my brain that makes it so when I see a bed, I want to lay down in it for forever and the rest of all time.

But, the date...

I'll tell you what is true for one thing...my date was good looking.  But more importantly he was very patient with his dress-up challenged wife - so much so that I believe he deserves a gold star.

I tried folks.  I really did...like I usually do with these fancy things.  I tried to enlist help.  I had my neighbor down the street and her good friend game planning things from early on.  I geared up.  I went to Walmart and loaded my cart with bobby pins and eye liner and lip gloss and mascara and eyebrow tweezers.  Good gosh a mighty, I went all out.  I bought silver, sparkly shoes with a significant heel to them.  I got a necklace and a matching bracelet.  Man, I tried.

But I couldn't help myself from clinging to a simple dress I already owned.  My friend had brought by a couple of dresses with a lighter, silkier feel to them than the heavy, cotton dress I had on hand.  One of her dresses was a jazzy, bright blue with a ruffled collar and a red belt that said, "Look at me folks because I...am...here!"  The other dress was a silky black number that dipped low at the neck that my friend and her friend excitedly declared showed off my legs (that's a pretty darn low neck, wouldn't you say?).  I was going to wear the black dress and pull at the neck all night and feel goofy in it's silkiness and fanciness and Banana Republic"ness."  But I couldn't do it.

At the last minute I snuggled into my Shabby Apple dress, the one my friend hinted was great for a day-party, and hoped that my jewelry and shoes had some bippity-boppity-boo power to them.  I did feel pretty when I left the house.  I had my make-up on, not too heavy with a little bit of shimmer around the eyes.  I had my hair curled and lightly pulled back from my face.  I was, like, about, ummmm....fifty times the normal me in attention to personal fanciness.

Then, as we left for the ball, my babysitter said genuinely, "You look cute!"  And I knew I was in trouble.

When we pulled into the parking lot of the convention center where the ball would be I saw handsome men helping their beautiful dates out of their cars.  I turned to my husband and said, "I'm sorry." 

And he said, "For what?  You look good."  But he knew what I meant.

Holy, moly folks.  The girls were bedazzled like I couldn't believe.  Everything was silky and shimmery and elegant and, well, just fancy.  Even though I was fifty times fancy me, I realized I really should have been 1050 times fancy me.  On a night like that I needed to break out of cute and try to enter the realm of beautiful.  (The thought of that actually kind of makes me giggle in my seat here while I type).

Luckily I'm all settled and happy about who I am.  So even in the middle of being a bit out of place and under-dressed, I still, with little self-consciousness, enjoyed the evening with good friends and ol'-Spouse-With-the-Appropriately-Gelled-Hair.  I did some laughing, some smiling, some chatting, and a good bit of my-children-aren't-here-so-I-can-relax relaxing while I ate our three course meal and clapped for this performance and that.

But I quickly figured out that it wasn't right or thoughtful of me not to bring my super-fancy game to the party.  Because I sensed that an unfancy girl makes folks think, depending on their personality, "Yikes, an oddity, where do I look?"  Or, "Yikes, her dress isn't so fancy.  Is mine too fancy?  Oh no, my dress is waaaaaaay too fancy."  Or, "Darn, she's a fun sapper isn't she?  Stop sapping the fancy fun.  We only get to do this like once every decade.  Stop spoiling it!"

So next time I am going to get the fancy dress that makes noise when I walk and sparkles when my shoulders move.  I'll probably get my hair done for reals, like where you pay for it.  I'll wear high heels and make-up again except they'll be higher and make-upier.  I will be 1050 times fancier than usual.  Because you know what, it's just polite.

And when I dress up all fancy like that and I feel strange in my skin because I'll know I'm not really being me, I'm going to remember what happened this morning.  As I was wiping away the mascara and eye-liner remnants from my face that ol' Spouse-My-Favorite pointed out to me before we rushed out the door for our busy day, he said, "There's my girl.  I love my simple girl.  You looked fine and all dressed up last night.  But I love my simple girl."  I can be polite and pretend to be fancy all up the yin-yang as long as I know I've got my boy who loves the simple me the best. 

You know, it was just another fairy tale evening.