And the only thing that matters, is climbing up that social ladder….
Still care about your hair and the car you drive
Doesn’t matter if you’re sixteen or thirty-five
It’s strange how you realize well after the fact how much some things bothered you long ago. High school for instance, that torturous four years that is really never easy for anyone, even the people that it looks easy for. I don’t know any one person who had an easy time of it in high school.
I was no different of course. When I was in high school I was the geeky arts kid who was a serious diva about her voice in senior year (because she didn’t have anything else, though few knew that). I had crooked teeth and glasses and I was pretty much a walking stick-girl until eleventh grade.
In short, prom queen I was not.
Of course being Canadian we didn’t really have a prom per-say. We had a graduation dance which we called a prom, but it wasn’t really one. My graduation class was horribly apathetic. But still, I went. Stag. And spent much of the evening wandering through the gardens trying to ignore the fact that I had no one to be ‘with’. In short, I had the same experience that most people who aren’t head cheerleader do at prom.
However, unlike most other people I got a second chance.
My job lends me continually unusual opportunities. I’m not sure what was behind the decision to throw a shipboard prom, but leave it to the flagship team to do just that. Five o’clock in the afternoon found us all sitting in the show lounge watching huge streamers of pink and blue material being hauled to the ceiling where it would hang like a giant brightly coloured circus-tent roof, while we blew up balloons. My goodness so many balloons! Honestly I was starting to think it would look more like a massive baby shower than a prom, but by the time I returned later that evening, the showroom had been transformed with balloon arches over the stage and shimmering banners everywhere. Welcome back to high school – don’t forget to cast your vote for the prom queen!
Some of you may think less of me for the fact that I was nervous about this whole prom thing. But I was. There’s a large part of me that’s still that gawky girl with crooked teeth. I rushed through dinner, even though I’d not eaten much that day, downed a couple of glasses of water and then promptly threw the ‘privacy please’ sign into my key slot so that my cabin stewards knew that I didn’t require turn down service. Then I sat down in front of the dresser mirror, and started to tackle my hair. You see, if I want my hair to look half-way elegant in and up-do I have to work with it damp. I have fine hair and trying to get it smooth if it’s fully dry is a useless endeavor in frustration. Since the dress I was going to be wearing was partially off the shoulder, there was no question that my hair had to go up. Eventually I managed to wrangle my always uncooperative tresses into what I wanted. Granted, that was with the aid of half a dozen bobby-pins and two decorative hair combs, and a LOT of hairspray. But it stayed. Thankfully.
Then of course, there was the dress.
Before I shipped out for this contract I spent hours staring at the computer screen looking at prom dresses. I needed a new formal anyway (all of mine, lovely as they are, were showing signs of wear), so I figured that – since we were having a prom – I may as well actually invest in a dress for it. Thing is, I needed something that I could wear again. I spent ages picking it out. I had it made to measure, rush ordered it, and was in constant communication with the shipping company to make sure it arrived on time. But what should have been a simple process turned into a nightmare when the gown arrived only four days before I was due to fly out and it didn’t fit. It was a good four inches off in the hips, and required some serious emergency alteration by my genius of a tailor who actually called all her other clients
I’m terribly sorry, I’ve had a rush order come in, I’m going to have to postpone finishing your suit
The result of all that stress was a perfectly fitted formal the likes of which even me, with my slight addiction to formal wear, had never worn before. I looked in the mirror and realized that the caterpillar really had become a butterfly. That said, I had only enough time to fasten my earrings, slide on my high heels and pull on my evening gloves before rushing out the door to make the 9pm call for final decorating.
Okay chica, let’s go be a prom queen
Those of you who’ve worked with me before, or known me for years, know that when I flip the switch to go from desk-mode to princess-mode, the difference is quite considerable. This was even more so than usual. Head’s turned, eyes followed me. I’m not really used to that kind of attention.
Who is *that*
I think that’s the librarian…
She…doesn’t normally look like that
About the only thing I had to consistently remind myself of was the train. The gown has a good three feet or more of train, which looks beautiful, but which I had to remind myself to pick up when walking in a crowded room or someone was going to put a heel through the chiffon. Miraculously it was only stepped on twice.
The night itself was a lot of fun. It went quickly, as the grand balls almost always seem to these days. At the end of it all the women on the team who had their hair pinned up looked at each other, and nearly as one reached back and pulled a single bobby-pin out of our hair, pried off the protective tips, and started attacking the balloons.
I don’t have a pointy thing!
Here, take one of mine!
Hey! We had 422 balloons in that room! Someone had to break them! There was so much noise it sounded like a miniature version of New Years Eve fireworks. Moreover, for some reason it struck everyone as hilariously funny, so the constant noise of the exploding balloons was interlaced with squeals of laughter. The guys, particularly the musicians, just looked at all of us and shook their heads.
While I was asked up for drinks at the after party, I didn’t make much of an appearance (in fact, I actively dodged the person who asked me, something I feel vaguely guilty about, but I’m just so off-market right now), instead I slid out as soon as I could. Instead of going home via the inside route, I cut across the outside deck, where there was no one but me and the sea breeze to clear the cobwebs out of my head.
Some occasions are better the second time around.