Big Girl Prom

I remember my prom like it was yesterday.

I wore this fantastic, black, empire waist dress with the tiniest of spaghetti straps. My neck was draped with a fine, black wrap for the beginning of the evening (it was way more trouble than it was worth) and I pinned my head up with a black flower.

I don't think I was going for a macabre mood as much as I was completely infatuated with black in 1995.

My date wore a traditional tux with white gloves and even toted along a cane. I don't know if Jason fancied himself something of a Bat Masterson type. Regardless, I picked out the ever popular sunflower as a boutonniere for the one prominent display of cheer between the two of us.

The prom was 45 minutes away from our little town. Jason managed to get a Lincoln Town Car from a family friend for out ride to and from the event - I don't think limos were a big damn deal for proms back in the day in Connecticut. We spent the majority of the ride talking about Jason's supposed ties to the mafia and how anxious we were to get out of our tiny fishbowl of a town.

The evening wasn't a complete let-down, but I sure don't think the dance managed to eclipse any of my classmates' pie-in-the-sky fantasies and expectations of what was to transpire while dancing to Gangsta's Paradise beneath the shiny disco ball.

I spent so many hours getting pumped for what I thought was to be the pinnacle of my high school career.

Hours preening and primping in front of the mirror... getting my hair style just so. Contimplating the perfect accessories ...Should I wear these earrings, or these?... Trying to decide between the velvet pumps I got at Payless and the black satin sandals left over from the previous summer.

I'm getting ready to relive the anticipation that comes with a showy shindig.

I've mentioned Late Night in the Amazon before. A bunch of my friends and I are pulling out all the stops and getting dressed to the nines for our big night out.

It's gonna be kind of like a Big Girl Prom.

I've already got a hair cut scheduled that morning, and then I'll trot off to find a spectacular top to wear at the big fete.

The day is already so predictable. Morning hair appointment. Daytime shopping expedition. Afternoon of napping. Then I'll pop open a bottle of wine or a cold microbrew and turn on the radio. The ten-year-old speakers will blast a whimsical mix of James, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Garbage and I will roll up my pajama bottoms before covering my toe nails with a bright, shiny coat of something pretty. Next up, some Netflixing while my nails dry and then I'll hop in the shower for a quick encounter with the body wash (my hair gets a pass thanks to the morning spent at the stylist).

That's when Wardrobe takes over.

My stylist (a.k.a. me) will scrounge through a variety of necklaces and earrings and bracelets and handbags and shoes before making a final decision on the ensem. I'll get dressed and then assume the position in front of the bathroom vanity.

Eyebrows plucked? Check.
Eyelashes curled? Check.
Lips lined? Check.

I'll troll through a bag full of frosted, vivid colors until I settle on something that simutaneously compliments my coloring and my wardrobe selection.

As you can see - hours of thought and ceremony will go into the preparation for the Big Girl Prom.

And then I'll toss on my coat, hop in my car and brace for the only thing that's not predictible about the evening...

... the night itself.