All Dressed Up

I got a manicure/pedicure today with my sister (happy birthday!), a cousin (/second cousin?) visiting from Philly, and a few of their friends. I don't think I've ever gotten the full treatment before. It was a fun get-together, but it reminded me of something...

I'll explain by recounting a traumatic teenage memory:

I was 17. I had recently become captain of the song squad (NOT cheer), which significantly enhanced my social status (I chalk it up to increased exposure...I certainly wasn't trying any harder). One day, a very popular boy personally invited me to his birthday party. (This was back before Facebook, so invitations were a big deal). It was going to be a big house party on a Saturday night, and more likely than not there was to be a good deal of drinking and drugs. I didn't party much, and wasn't into drinking or drugs, but I was pretty stoked just to be included. This could be my big social debut.

Two of my songleader friends were invited as well, so we decided we'd all go together.

Saturday night arrived. I'd recently taken a class at my dance studio about performance makeup (ie- makeup that can be seen from 50 feet away), and I found that these skills translated wonderfully for party makeup. Once my face was plastered on, hair ironed flat as a board, and outfit assembled, I called my friend to get an ETA. No answer. I fiddled around on the computer for a while, wasting time. My phone wasn't ringing. I tried calling a few times over the next 3 or 4 hours. 'Maybe we're being fashionably late on purpose' I thought. More time passed. My mom saw me sitting on the couch, all dressed up, and asked me when I was going out.

Finally, at around midnight, my friend called. She was already at the party, and sounded drunk. "I thought you said you were meeting us here," she slurred. Lies. I knew that I'd never in a thousand years agree to show up at a party by myself and find my friends in the crowd.

"Just come meet us," she suggested, "but just to warn you, I don't know how long we're staying."

There was no way I was going over there alone. I hung up the phone, and thought about how much I'd been looking forward to this party. I walked by a mirror and became acutely aware of the fact that I'd spent hours getting ready, only to spend the night sitting in the living room doing nothing. My mom offered to take a walk with me, so I could at least feel like I'd left the house. Good idea in theory, but I looked way to whore-y to leave the house and not go to a party.

All dressed up with nowhere to go. Ever since that traumatic Saturday night many years ago, I've been hypersensitive to this phenomenon.

Back to today: after getting our nails done, all the girls stood in a circle discussing their evening plans (parties/weddings) and how their nails would match their outfits. I realized that, while my nails were all dressed up, I had nowhere to go.

After I was dropped back at my apartment, I took off my 'I-put-effort-into-my-appearance' outfit in favor of pajamas. Now, I'm sitting on the couch, watching TV in my pajamas, hoping that my nicely dressed-up nails survive long enough for someone to actually see them.