Ah spring time! There are so many wonderful things to look forward to at the end of the school year including what most young ladies in high school are super excited for: Prom.
It's supposed to be a night to remember in that perfect dress and all! Oh, mine was a night to remember all right.
We had two big dances a year at our school, not including prom which is really the last guaranteed time I had to dress up and go out. To me, I was over'd the big dance thing ("Over'd"--the feeling of being finished or through). Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed getting dressed up, but there was always the reality part of these dances that a girl had to work with.
For example, finding a date. High school boys--I swear--they just don't know how to talk to girls. I had been asked approximately TWO times out of the TEN dances I attended from the time I was 13 until I graduated. One of which I had to ask my boyfriend to ask me just so I could say I'd been asked by a boy--patheic, right?
In any case, I was that girl that always asked my dates. Never have I ever had a problem asking a boy to a dance (or on a date) because to me, if I wanted to go with someone, I better jump on that before someone else did! And I sure as heck wasn't waiting around for some sissy guy to finally get up the courage to say, "Hey, you wanna go?"
There was one year I went stag in an awesome black pant suit--ooh, I felt hot. Shiny black, halter top in my black high heels--I felt like one sophisticated woman in that outfit. That was one year I said, "To hell with asking boys! I don't need 'em!" Ooh, I felt so daring. And then the I had the nicest guy walk me in and buy my ticket--my Daddy. What a sweet man. You know, they say, "The only man a girl can depend on is her daddy." (Grease anyone?)
Anyway, the date issue was a main source of stress and then of course was the dress, the dinner, the after plans, yadda yadda yadda. It was all fun and I enjoyed all my dances, but there are two particular dances that were the most special to me.
The first was my freshman winter formal, Colonel Ball, where I went my first boyfriend. If ever a girl has a Cinderella dance, this was the one. I wore this beautiful gold, champagne colored Jessica McClintock, a treasure I found at a smashing good price. My make-up was pretty, I got to ride in a limo with beautiful flowers in my hands and wonderful guy on my arm. 14 years old and so in puppy-love with my then boyfriend, I could have worn a trashbag and walked all the way there, it didn't matter; it was because of who I was with and how much fun we had together that made it so wonderful.
The second dance was my prom, a true nightmare with a happy ending. First of all, I did not care about the prom. Let's just begin that. Second, I did not have a date. Asked a guy a guy friend who not only shot me down to our 8th grade dance, but shot me down for the prom, too. Groovy. Never fear, my wonderful friend, Michael, came to my rescue--he was an old theater friend and in his first year as a dance major at SMU. When I thought to ask Michael, I knew I'd had a fabulous time!
So the day of the prom arrives--whatever, I think. Oh negativity, you came back to bite me in the butt!
The first item on my list of to-do's for the day was to get my make-up done...and so the nightmare begins.
I get to the make-up counter. I always have my make-up done, one less hassle for the day. Come to find out, my standard artist had to leave because her mother died. I kid you not, her mother died that morning and she had to leave work. OK, i totally understand that one, but I have no one as a back-up. Not a soul I trusted with a make-up wand to beautify this face for an evening of glamour. So I scope out the other ladies around, seeing which artist has great make-up of their own. I pick a nice younger lady, whom I've never had the pleasure of working with before. Can we say "big mistake?"
Things are going fairly well, but it appears she's kinda plastering on the eye make-up a little dark--I don't usually wear black. Then she remarks on how tan I look. "Oh," I exclaim, "I've been doing mystic-tan and it's worked out really well for me! I'm such a fair skinned person, I own the lightest shade in your foundation colors." She tells me I look fabulous then proceeds to prance off only to return with TONS of dark shades of powders and foundations. And for some reason she starts on my foundation AFTER my eyes. Mmk, she's got her own system, whatev. I don't have worry about doing it later so I don't bother speaking up. Second big mistake.
My lady flounces off to go ring me up for the lipstick I bought when I spot a friend from a across the store at another make-up counter. I holler at her and then I see her face. The shock, the horror, the awe in my friend's eyes which are about shoot out of her head.
"Oh...gah....Hey Julie! Your make-up is...uh....its a...dark.....See ya!" There she goes sprinting off like she's running for her life. Well, that was odd.
Not exactly the reaction one would hope to recieve upon debuting their newly painted face so I immediately reach for a mirror. Should have known there was something terribly wrong when my make-up lady kept moving mirrors out of my reach because this is what I had staring at me in the mirror:
"AHH!" Oh I screamed. In the store and loudly. I LOOKED LIKE AN OOMPA-LOOMPA! How could I not be so shocked? Can you see the caked on make-up?! I was a walking mannequin! What's worse is as I was leaving, I had to walk through the children's section and witness the little tikes hiding behind their mothers, pointing and loudly announcing the presence of a freak with an orange face. This picture, this documentation of my humiliated face is an attmept of me NOT crying (because, as my mother said, it would only make things worse.).
I race home in a panic, what the heck am I going to do? I can't take off the base because then the eyes would be look like big ol' black splotches on my face. I didn't have enough time to re-do it all, my date was going to be there in like an hour. So Mom and Sarah are on me with kleenex trying desperately trying to dust off the coating of orange powder the insane make-up artist thought would be appropriate. Idiot woman. I felt like a package of Mac & Cheese--all I needed was to add water for instant cheesy sauce.
Meet Jannquia, my alter ego. She comes out to hang every now and again--this was her big debut. She wore her good t-shirt and even did her "hura" for us.
I got dressed, tried to fix my hair into something other than a rat's nest, and my date shows up. I open the door, Michael's there with corasge in hand and I see him waving goodbye to his car. Waving goodbye to his father. Odd, right? The car is leaving with his father in it who drove him to my house and there it goes, down the street. The next words I hear out of his mouth are, "Hey, so my brother wrecked his car and is using mine so my dad had to bring me. You don't mind driving, do ya?"
Ga-gung. My heart just stopped--drive myself to the prom. OK, I consider myself an independent women. Sure, I got my own date and am about to suffer through the humiliation of going to my prom with a now only semi-orange face. Why not finish it off and drive myself to the prom as well? Swell.
I hear myself say "No problem, hang on." Calmly I walk back to my parents room and say, "Dad, I have to drive myself to the prom. Can you help me clean out my car?" My parents just stare at me with their mouths gaping open as I leave the room. I think they were more shocked at how calm I was about it all.
Here we go, headed off in my purple carriage!
I drove myself to the prom in my purple camry. Not even washed--that's the ONE thing guys have to do. That's the ONE thing they spend hours doing, taking care of the car. I should have known when I asked a dancer to go with me that the transportation would be the least of his worries. Although he did look rather dapper for the night. Thank goodness one of us looked decent.
A pink dress and orange skin--if I were a blonde I would have looked like a fried Malibu Barbie!
Thank heaven "Big Sister's are always there!" Please note my skin color compared to her WHITE sweater...
We took pictures with friends, got lost to the dance, and somehow made it there in one piece. The night started off on the completely wrong foot, but it really did turn around. Remember how I said it was one of my second best dances? Well, that's because everything after was so much better--I swear, I ended up having a better time than most of my friends.
See, here he's saying, "Yeah, we're cool--orange date and all!"
Michael and I devoured the buffet table after creating a plan of attack to hit every cuisine available. We made our way onto the dance floor where we stayed pretty much all night long and only took a breather to have our palms read while sampling the chocolate fountain. Scoped out the cute boys in the room, but I think my date had more with that than I did. Afterwards we headed to my friend's lake house for the night and had an absolute blast with a fun group of people.
Getting to the prom might have been disasterous, horrible even, but it got to the point of, "who cares?!" We hopped out on the dance floor, cut us a rug shaking our groove thang's and had a heck of time just having fun!
I'm not saying I ever want to have a repeat of the grotesque makeover experience, but I sure am glad how it turned out.
Also learned a valuable trick that, ladies, I hope you all hang on to after reading this post. Jannequia says:
"Less is more, honey child! Mhmm!"