While shopping for my daughter’s second Prom dress, I happened to go to one of the strangest places. Mind you, my daughter has been in ballet for many years, therefore we are used to costumes, feathers and the bizarre quality the footlights bring about.
But my daughter had found her tribe, probably long ago, and her eyes lit up upon entering the grandeur and glue. But I was reminded of the circus.
Dresses hanging at least two feet higher than in a regular dress shop, (to allow for the length of the gowns), all squished into each other. They were catalogued by color. Rich, dazzling color.
Pedestals for self-viewing in front of huge gilded mirrors. Screens to dress behind. Girls being squeezed into cut-out sparkles, all lumpy and in need of Spanx.
The ring leader of this store sat behind a desk. She reminded me of Vito in The Godfather. Power was what she was about. And hustle was how she did business, while her minions worked the girls, oozing the words “beautiful!” and “you!” softly heard through the thickly carpeted rooms.
My daughter bought her dress there. Tasteful and elegant. I cannot tell you how this could be possible. Her manifestation of cheap glitziness was in the pair of shoes we bought, however.
Before the final touch was put on these lovely flat shoes, I fell into her trap. The circus leader had me writing a check. The male assistant then ascended the glitter strewn stairway to spray them.
He came down with silver glitter encrusted flats, telling us he went through two cans of spray paint. Carrying an extra can of Krylon silver glitter spray in case we needed to touch them up. I need say no more except that these shoes had clamped to them two clip-on earrings, rhinestones, of course. At the toe. The shoes could not be even tried on at the time because the paint was still wet. The assistant was respraying them in the dark outside as we were preparing to leave. Even the rhinestones had spray paint on them!
You get the picture. My husband returned them along with the third can of spray paint these stiff shoes might need. Our check was destroyed. Our dignity intact.
We all get carried away at times, Hollis. Of course, I’ve never had the thrill of buying a prom dress, having a son. In my day, there were no proms. It was before the film Grease hit our shores, before anything remotely exciting happened …
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I have trouble believing that. You had the excitement of being envied by the entire world, producing all those musicians! But probably before your time! I had an English pen pal. She spelled patterned stockings (all the rage) “Pattined” I was enchanted!!!! An English accent? Wow?!!!
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Oh my! I would have loved to see a picture of those shoes, Hollis. “Wet paint!” Too funny!
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Yes, Jill, it was pretty funny! When the shoes finally dried and Prom was over (the right silver sandals were chosen), we got out those shoes, now dried….. they were so stiff and leaden looking and I put nail polish remover on the clip on earrings to get the paint off…..we tried to make it work.(for something else) Then our daughter tried to put a foot in and the clip on earring prevented it. That’s when my husband took them back. The woman did not even flinch! She said “How was Prom? and “The clip ons were meant to be worn as earrings!”
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You are kidding me…really, worn as earrings? This story just gets more crazy. 🙂
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Oh, Jill, That place is a writer’s dream. I found out later that there is a
Drag Queen Ball here in Atlanta and THAT place is where the men find their costumes! Didn’t know….my daughter was just GPSing on her phone and found it, we walked in…….
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