I had three hours to kill between work and gala, so I slipped in and out of shopping malls. As I stood in the checkout line at a nearby discount store, I studied the young clerk's pierced tongue and wondered how that shiny silver knob would look with my soon-to-be-seductive party ensemble. Nah. I'd probably forget and wear it to visit my mom at the assisted-living facility, and she'd have it yanked out before I could say, "Ith juth a joke!"
That is . . . IF they could catch me and hold me down long enough to harpoon my tongue. AAACK!
With only moments to spare, I sat in the car and replaced my teal jacket with a black georgette top with silver threads. ("Ah, I'm gettin' there," I thought.) Then, I slipped into my "please me" black high-heeled spikes. (I wished for Mama's three-prong cane to help me wobble down the sidewalk.) Next, I removed my Albertson's watch and college ring and replaced them with magnificent diamonds. (Okay, so maybe they weren't diamonds---just gaudy rhinestones. But, it was dark and nobody would notice the green streaks on my skin.)
I "rubied" up my lips and practiced my Marilyn Monroe guppy mouth before walking into the banquet room. I
recognized no one! Sure, there were lots of people in fine party attire, but I didn't recognize anybody from work. I thought, "Could I have been mistaken about the hotel?" Just then I heard a voice.
"Hey, Cindy, over here! We've saved a seat for you." I looked around to see if the voice was intended for someone else. "Cindy, it's me---Beverly!"
As I walked closer to the voice, I began studying the face. Oh, my gosh! It WAS Beverly from the office. "I didn't recognize you. You've had your nose fixed."
"No, I haven't. I've just changed my hairstyle for the party. How do you like it?"
"Uh, gee, you look . . . really . . . festive! I stammered. I sat down and looked around the table at the other party-goers. Nobody looked familiar. I whispered to Beverly, "So, who's the guy with the wet paintbrush hair?"
Beverly responded, "Oh, that's Kevin---Misty's husband."
"So, where's Misty?" I asked.
Beverly leaned closer and whispered, "Cindy, that's Misty in the red dress with the plunging neckline sitting beside him."
Good grief! There was nothing left to "wonder" about Misty's bra. I watched as she got up and followed 'em to the punch bowl. "Where does she keep them while she's at work?" I asked Beverly.
"Cindy, it's all in the foundation." (She must have rented it from Hank's Tank & Boiler. Maybe there are models from which to choose---"Help," "Hoist," and "Heave." The closest I ever came to an industrial-strength foundation garment was a waist cinch I wore under my prom dress back in high school. Actually, I was trying to wear my sister's (3 sizes smaller than I wore) gown. After I wrestled and finally got anchored into the dress, neither my shoes nor my jewelry would fit!
As I gazed around the room, the glitter and glitz of every woman's party ensemble took a back seat to Misty’s Great Divide. Gee, those women could have saved time and money on hairstyles, shoes, and jewelry---Nobody noticed. They could have worn their scuffs, terry robes, and cold cream.
It's like the morning I had driven 85 miles to work, only to discover that my shoes were different colors. No problem---I just stopped at Toys-R-Us and bought a Viking's helmet to wear to work. Nobody noticed my shoes that day.