Cinderella
It was a cool fall day, as I was running to meet my date for the evening; I was hoping not to tumble like a tall pine tree in the forest. TIMBER! That was the last word I wanted to hear. I was in a rush hoping not to fall off of the two inch heels I had to endure for the evening. I was on my way to attend a semi-formal business event for my company with another business acquaintance of mine who did not want to go alone. Amazing how someone who owns a septic installation and repair company could fully change and attend a formal event. It was so much better than the dirt encrusted, and goodness only knows what else, clothing I had to wear for work.
As I walked hurriedly I thought back to when my whole adventure to get ready for this event began. I was very uncomfortable with the idea of having to go shopping and focus on hair, nails and make up almost like Barbie. “You know, like, wow!” using her princess wave as she walked by. It brought to mind Barbie saying, “B-bye, bye now. B-bye, bye-bye.” Wondering how long she would have to stand in those high heels smiling and having her face hurt if it didn’t fall off and crack first. Or was that what I was hoping would have happened to Barbie since she always seemed so perfect.
Having to think about finding the “right” dress or outfit to wear was a scary thought. A Halloween costume of Frankenstein would work for me for all I cared about dressing up. I wasn’t too keen on the idea of going through the hassle, but I wanted to network with the right people; sometimes I wondered if hobnobbing with this crowd was worth the effort of going through the torture of preparing for the night. I thought about the experience and tried to justify to myself that the whole thing was worth it from the shopping, the shoes, the hair, nails and make up. I had a week to get ready.
I asked my friend Marta for help for this event, “I have a week, it’s plenty of time.” Marta is a fashion designer and cosmetologist. When I told her about the event she screeched in a high pitch squeal that you would only hear on American Idol; the try outs of an out of tune high pitched opera singer. I thought she was going to pass out. I was panicked enough about this event; I didn’t need her panicking as well. Instead she threw her arms around me and hugged me talking unintelligibly. Maybe her words were unintelligible due to the death grip she had on me made me see stars as she cut off the oxygen flow to my brain. Marta wasn’t panicked, she was thrilled. I was going to have to dress up, do my hair and make up. She had been waiting a long time to get her “cosmetological” hands on me. She turned and looked at me, wrung her hands together and smiled; “Now it’s my turn.” In the echo around me I could hear a deep voice maniacally laughing “Muah-ha-ha-ha-ha.”
Marta was just chomping at the bit to get me out shopping. I have never seen someone so ready to run out and spend money. Something she lived for. After careful discussion she and I agreed that she would design and make her masterpiece, the dress I would be wearing for the evening. “Great! I always wanted to act like a mannequin, being poked and prodded like a pin cushion during an annual exam, as someone created their masterpiece.”
Marta’s talents always seemed to be right in line with whatever she did. The many talents of this woman were scary. I could count on her for almost anything. If someone needed a nuclear reactor shut down in minutes in a crisis, there was Marta, and she would do it. I rarely needed her but at a time like this she was worried a week wasn’t going to be enough time. I thought to myself incredulously, “How could a week not be enough time to get a dress, do my hair, make up and go?” I was so looking forward to acting like a mannequin being poked and prodded as someone created their masterpiece.
I realized within the first hour how truly creative Marta is. She uses her creative talents to make others happy or miserable depending on how you looked at it. I had just entered my worst nightmare. Marta was calling me every hour except for when I was at work. If I didn’t know what it was like to be stalked I was finding out. I wonder if she didn’t call my work and hang up to make sure I was there and hadn’t skipped out of town on her. With the way she was acting I was wondering if I didn’t want to be high-tailing it out of town like John Wayne at the end of a movie riding off into the sunset in fast forward where even Miss Kitty didn’t have a chance to come out and yell, “Wait, don’t go!” I think she is still in the background waiting for her cue.
We spent an evening shopping for material. Her idea of elegant was neon bright and polka dot colorful. My idea of elegant wasn’t quite the bright neon pink she seemed to adore. I like looking good, however, being the center of attention by being able to be the replacement disco ball was not my idea of colorful. I prefer the traditional black or calm colors like blue and green or aquamarine. I would rather blend in with the walls or fish tanks than stand out in a crowd. After a bit of no, that’s not going to happen, absolutely not and not on your life we finally agreed on a black satin material with a thin lace cover over in the same pattern. I would be wearing a thin satin floor length black dress with a spider web thin lace over the top. It truly was elegant.
She worked night and day for two days creating her masterpiece. She so wanted things to be perfect. Two days before the event she decided, after looking in my closet, that I didn’t have any shoes to match the dress. My mouth fell open and I looked at her as though she was insane. How many pairs of shoes did one person need? I already, in my opinion, had too many pairs. She looked at me and stammered, “ I can’t believe what I am hearing! Any self respecting woman could never have enough shoes.” I sat and laughed quietly to myself as I didn’t want to offend the queen of chic.
We were out the door to find shoes. We went from store to store having her force me to try on shoes. “One inch, two inch, three inch floor!” I thought to myself, “How in the world do women walk in these things?” She looked at me as though she could read my mind and very sternly said, “You will get used to it. Deal with it!” After going to at least eight different stores we ended up back at the original store buying the one pair I had tried on first. Ugh!! All of that for the first pair I tried on? What’s up with that?
She wanted me to go home and practice walking in them so I wouldn’t stumble all over myself the night of the event. I laughed and agreed; I would have to, I wasn’t accustomed to walking around in two inch high heeled shoes. I wasn’t even sure I was going to be safe. One trip and I was going over like a tree. Maybe at this point life insurance would be a good thing.
Marta gave me a day of reprieve from what I considered to be her malicious endeavors. As the day arrived I was nervous. Marta kept discussing all that we had left to do, as though it was some major construction project. In her mind it was, in my mind I kept thinking, “What is the big deal?” Marta was acting as though she was a Fairy Godmother and she was getting Cinderella ready for the ball. I sat and laughed I didn’t truly realize what she had in mind. I wasn’t prepared. Feeling completely caught off guard as though someone walked into the room while my pants were down, Marta started talking about waxing. I thought at first she was talking to herself. I realized as she tried to approach me with a stick that had a bunch of goo on it that she was talking about me. I sat thinking, “Now what was she going to do with that? It wasn’t going to touch me in any way shape or form. Working in the septic industry having someone approach you with some “brown stuff on a stick” just isn’t right.” I explained this to her and she just started to laugh an evil laugh. At this point I knew I was in trouble. She applied what she needed to my eyebrow and then applied a small square. I knew what she was about to do and I was a bit fearful. I am not one for allowing pain especially when it is happening to me. She suddenly changed the subject and got my attention diverted when all of a sudden she ripped that piece of cloth from my body. Bloody Hell!! She almost had to tie me down. Nothing like having a good patch of hair ripped from your body when you least expect it! There was no way I was going to allow her to do that again. She once again approached me with that stick with the goo on it and told me if she didn’t do it one more time that I would look like the biggest dork on the face of the planet. My thought was that if I looked like a dork I didn’t care I wasn’t going to experience that kind of pain again. After the being shown my face in the mirror and realizing how big of a dork I looked at that moment, I reluctantly let her approach me with more “goo” on a stick. I was cringing when I noticed she was attempting to divert my attention again. I should have let her. It hurt more the second time knowing it was coming. How do women put up with this on a regular basis?
After the waxing that wasn’t supposed to hurt a bit, came the hair and make up. Marta thought that during the time she was doing this she would put on the appropriate movie. Here I thought “Pretty Woman” would be, just from it’s title, the choice. Nope! She put on “Miss Congeniality” where one person goes from Attila the Hun to Miss
Marta was more excited about this event and to be able to have her way with my hair that I finally sat back to enjoy the manipulations of her hands. She was so excited, I had finally relaxed to let her put the final touches on her “project”. This part wasn’t so bad. All I had to do was sit there as she cut and styled my hair. She was moving so fast Edward Scissorhands would have been put to shame. I watched her closely. I could not believe the difference when she was done. I felt so pretty! She definitely had a way about her to make everything right.
The time to go had come and gone. I was running late. Marta was fussing and fretting. The accessories had to be on just right. I had to hold my bag in the proper manner. She reminded me to use my manners. I told her enough was enough. It was time to go, my date would be waiting. I was in for a night of being the “belle of the ball”. It was going to be a night like no other; a night discussing septic systems and the crap that goes in them.
As I approached the doorway to enter the ball room I stopped to catch my breath. Looking around at all the people I knew standing in that room, I wondered why I was nervous. I still don’t understand the reasoning behind going through all that torture just to be “presentable”. To people who during the day would regularly see me at my worst. As I approached my date and saw the look on his face, I was going to need a shovel to put his tongue back into his mouth the way it was gaping open. I had to look behind me twice to make sure no one was there. For that response it was truly worth it.
No comments:
Post a Comment