You know how when you're a kid, you're sure that if something is wrong with your outfit or your hair or whatever, you have got to fix it NOW because you're so sure that everyone at school will see it right away and you'll feel like the class dweeb?Okay, that really does happen when you're a kid; it happened to me and I'm sure it's happened to everyone. (It's 3:00 and the final bell rings and someone says "Did you know your slip's been hanging down at your ankles all day?") But as the years passed, I've come to believe that people are just not looking that closely at most other people all the time. Well, maybe if something is really obvious. But otherwise, not so much. Years back, when I still wore skirts and heels to work, I realized once in the middle of the morning that I had put on one black and one navy shoe, and no one said a word because, frankly, I blend into the background and really, who's looking at my feet?
However, the famous story here Chez Chai is that back in the day when R was a lowly sophomore going to the Junior Prom, she found a cool sort of retro gown in the house that I had worn as a bridesmaid in 1970-something, and it looked great on her and cost us nothing and all we had to do was get shoes dyed to match. Picked them up the day before the prom and the color was juuuust .... off. Really, it looked the same at quick glance, and I said to her, Listen, no one will notice. You look gorgeous; who's gonna be looking at your feet? She did not believe me for a minute, but there was really no alternative, and off she went.
Was at the prom for maybe twenty minutes when her cousin -- my nephew Good Guy -- came in with his date; he had graduated the year before, but his long-time girlfriend was a junior, so there he was. He greeted me, he turned to greet R, and stopped in mid-approach to a hug and said "What's wrong with your shoes? They don't match your dress."
The upshot of this is that we all dress very, very carefully when we are going anyplace he is going to be, because he's apparently the most observant straight man on the planet. That aside, I am going to the end-of-the-year faculty dinner tomorrow night, and I gave very little thought to what I might wear because, you know, who's looking at me? I have a nice kind of sun-dress, long, that I wear with a short-sleeved cardigan (even though I believe that short-sleeved sweaters are an abomination), and I haven't worn it or tried it on in a few years, but it's nice, and would still flow over my somewhat enlarged mid-section. Anyway, who cares?
Today at school, the co-ordinator of this little soiree asked me if I would be the one to get up and speak on behalf of the Chum when the time comes to recognize her imminent retirement. Aw, shucks. I said I would if it would be okay if I cried through the whole thing. Just kidding, although serious mistiness is a good possibility. For me and the Chum. She abhors being any kind of the center of attention, although she is a very bright personality and is often at the center of any group. But she hates to speak or stand up in front of a group, and that's what this is. She and I go to this dinner together every year, and she seriously considered skipping this year -- her last -- just to avoid the retirement presentation. I don't think she knows yet that I will be her speaker.
It was easier to come up with what I wanted to say than I thought it would be. I'm keeping it short, but hopefully it's the right thing. At school today, all I really thought about was what to say, and keeping my emotions in control, and how the Chum will be with the whole thing. Then I got home and remembered: now I really need something to wear.
Why not the dress? Because I almost never wear dresses, I don't even own a slip anymore. And I normally wouldn't care, because, you know, who's looking at me? No one will notice. Except I think that if I have to walk from my table, across an empty dance floor, to a podium and stand there with lights and stuff on me, the lack of a slip is likely to be ... you know ... noticeable.
I went back to the old standby -- black slacks -- but I'm wearing a really nice white tank and a lovely black and silver jacket over that. White is out of character enough for me. I must remember not to eat anything with tomato sauce, or I will be wearing it. Too bad it's at an Italian restaurant.
Ah, what the hell. No one will notice.
