Facing Myself

     I feel gorgeous.


     That was the text I sent to my sister after my hairdresser Mali gave me the coolest updo I had ever seen.   I had my best friend's wedding that night, and I wanted to look and feel great.  I always shied away from having my hair pulled back. Until today, whenever I attempted it, I always felt my face looked potato-like.  But between the long, curly lashes and even tone complexion that Jennifer gave me, and Red Carpet hair, I was a knockout.
     There was no difference in how I acted (other than looking in the mirror admiringly at the woman who by this time would normally be disheveled and cursing the homework fairy) once I felt stunning beyond words.

     I found the dress just a day before.  My sister went through my closet with me and although I had something to wear, she wanted to see me in something I was happy and excited to put on.
    I was enthusiastic and giddy as I dressed for the wedding.  I smiled through a pair of Ultra Sheer black pantyhose that ran before I even left my room.   I had no insecurities.  Any blemish was hidden with foundation and cover up, any lack of muscle tone sucked in courtesy of Berkshire tummy, hip, and thigh control pantyhose. 

ME vs. Mom-mee

     I walked in to the party, like I was walking onto a yacht-except I had two kids under ten that immediately requested Cokes with ice.  Joe was going to meet us there, he was on his way home from a conference and would be much later than I wanted to be.
   At the reception, it was as if I'd zipped myself into someone else and walked around.  No one, including my own dad recognized me at first.  Did hair and cosmetics make that much of a difference?  The only hint of 'me' was my daughter tugging at my dress and asking me for one of the iced sugar cookies in the shape of a wedding cake.  Was it possible, was I so hideous, did I walk out of our home in such disarray that everyone needed my dental records to be convinced it was me?!
     Some memorable words of tribute to me:
     "I'm not trying to sound rude, but you've never looked better." 
     "I didn't even recognize you!  You look breathtaking!"

Is this me running errands or looking for the nearest bell tower?

     "Oh my G-d, I didn't even recognize you!!"
     "You should always look this good."
     With each 'compliment' my ass sagged a little lower, the foundation dug deeper into the crows feet around my eyes, and now any confidence I had at the beginning of the night had unhinged itself from me and wanted to make a mad dash for the buffet.
     Did I look so different?   I pictured my daytime self running around in my black scuffed up biker boots looking enviously at Uber-Zee.  I don't know if it was that I looked better, or that the happiness I had for my friend was what illuminated me.
     At 1a.m. my toes were throbbing, and little bubbles of fat played peek-a-boo through the run in my pantyhose, yet I didn't want the night to end. Was it because I was having the best time in years, or was I afraid of being knocked back into reality and off of the 'pretty' pedestal I had created for myself?
     I thought back to the person who told me, "It doesn't get better than this."
     Maybe it doesn't.  How often do I go to weddings and have the opportunity to feel such bliss throughout the night?  It wasn't the decor,  the food,  the music, or the colorful display of bottles behind the bar.  It wasn't even my appearance.....it was a positive energy that resonated throughout the room.  Every being in that room was beaming.
     Perhaps the truest state of euphoria is holding on to that feeling even after the hair comes down and the war paint off.  I don't know if I have the courage to test this theory tonight.
     Rather than pick the 32 bobby pins from my hair when I get home or peel off the lifting particles of lash from my lids, I will sleep uncomfortably, but happy; anxiously awaiting the next slew of invitations.