Prom is an exciting time in most horned-up high schoolers precious little lives. I know I wanted to go the moment my 6th grade self discovered it’s existence in North American folklore. My mother had taken to buying me copies of “CosmoGirl” as “Seventeen,” in her argument, was for girls who were seventeen. Unfortunately, by the time I was seventeen, I had already passed the maturity level of figuring out what the most subtle ways of flirting at a carnival were, and what summertime toenail polish color would best coincide with my star sign (a nice sparkly orange for you Cancers). I really could have used those tips when I hit fourteen, but water under the bridge, I suppose.
However, there was a shining light in my mother’s contradictory parenting methods. I received a 500 page prom magazine, seven years prematurely.
I slapped that sucker open as I laid in bed, looking at all the different dresses and putting together the perfect outfit. There were some darling ball gowns and slinky satin numbers, but it wasn’t until I saw my beauty laid out before me like Kate Winslet on the chaise for Leo, that I knew what I wanted.
The dress was a halter in a muted shade of lavendar. The color found usually as the result of dumping all the food coloring dyes into a white bowl of frosting and stirring it up. Sigh. What’s that? It looks to have a sheen that gives off a rainbow effect once it catches light. Who made this dress, King Jesus? It’s perfect.
What’s more? It wasn’t just any old elegant dress. It was a two piece! Oh, to my delight. Nothing says magical storybook evening like fleshy, deli-ham, skin pouring over the top of the skirt.
That could be easily fixed. Fixed with clear, 5-inch platform heels that lit up when the wearer stomped-I mean floated across the dance floor.
Now, the outfit was fully planned from the neck down. Hm. Something was missing.
In case the other classmates didn’t understand the royalty that would be gracing their presence, the $8 dollar rhinestone tiara would make the vision complete. But what to do with that hair? A princess beauty couldn’t have a tiara sitting on top of some crusty old hairdo. No side sweep will do. Chignons are boring and sound edible. Then, like the light from a unicorn’s horn, a stroke of genius shone down. What hairstyle could possibly compliment such a stunning adornment atop my egg-shaped skull? It’s perfect! It only makes sense! It is the other half of the golden amulet!
A crown of cornrows, of course!
The crown of cornrows would meet the placement of the tiara (did the stars align or what?) then the rest of my hair would be fixed into two french braids that tied together at the ends.
With my forehead so taut, if I had blinked it would change the channel on the neighbors TV. There needed to be makeup shellacked onto this blank canvas.
There needed to be the lipliner, a dark mauve, which surrounded a plum (both in taste and color) lipgloss with gold sparkes. Blush needed to be applied in a circlular motion on the apples of the cheeks in a rich berry. Raspberry, blackberry, or even mashed boysenberry would do.
Then the eyes would need some focus. Simple and chic. White eyeliner to top those lids, followed by a slick coat of blue mascara. I needed to get those eyes to pop. To polish it all off, just a quick glide of maroon “Froot Loop” scented roll-on glitter right into the unplucked eyebrows. A staple in every makeup bag.
A sweet, sensual, Cinderella story in the making.
I don’t know where I went wrong, but I never did get my dream ensemble for prom. I went with something boring, and that includes the Chignon. I like to believe that somehow, somewhere, in a dimension call Skqlarnak, all the girls of the world are living out their dream prom, slow- dancing to Martin Page’s “In the House of Stone and the Light.”
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