Sometimes I'm Fancy
You can take me to nice places but I can't promise I won't make it weird
When you think of me, you probably think of my intense hatred of pants. In fact, as I write this I’m sitting here pantsless.
That doesn’t sound right.
I think people get the wrong idea when I say I’m not wearing pants. I’m not sitting around in my drawers. It’s cold!! I’m wearing pants. They’re just not pants-pants. They’re not outside pants. I mean, I could probably wear them to Walmart, but that’s about it. I don’t even know where I find this stuff anymore. Amazon just knows me so well now, they’re like, “Jen, we found this fuzzy onesie with legs and a hood. Shall I add one in every color to your cart?”
Anyway, all this to say I have a problem with pants. So, it’s always a little surprising when I get dressed up and go outside my house to be fancy AF. I don’t do it a bunch, but when I do, it’s almost always with my friend, Nicole. She’s always inviting me to events where I have to/get to wear a push-up bra and heels. She’s kind of a BFD around here (last night Gomer referred to her as a “Kansas City Socialite.” She should definitely put that on her business cards now) and I’m lucky I get to tag along. Thank goodness, she doesn’t care when I make it weird.
Over the weekend, Nicole sponsored a table at a gala and I was one of the lucky ones who was offered a seat.
I’m not good in big groups, but I’m doing better. I think the first time she invited me to a gala, I didn’t leave the table for fear of tripping over my heels and/or making small talk with strangers. After attending several events with her now, I’m much better at social stuff and I’ve found sturdy heels.
Besides my aversion to pants, I think the other personality trait people think I have is I’m not the nicest person. But that’s not entirely true. I’m nice to everyone until I’m not. I will admit, sometimes it’s hard to be nice to people at galas though. It’s always loud and I can’t hear very well, so I just stand there and nod and hope they’re not saying, “Would you vote for Ron DeSantis for president?” It’s crowded and I’m short, so I can’t see over the sea of people. This is when it’s handy to hang out with tall people. There’s a lot of humblebragging that goes on. You know me and humblebragging, so I have a hard time keeping my eyes from rolling.
But this year I was so good, you guys!!
I found a dress in my closet I could wear, so the Hubs was happy. No money was spent!
I had comfortable heels, so I could stand by the bar for a long time.
I tend to scowl, but it’s only because that’s more comfortable than smiling. But I fixed my face and made a conscious effort to smile.
Walking away any time someone started humblebragging helped me a lot with my face. I’ve also learned to recognize them so I exit upon their approach. I took a “small-talk class” last year and I learned that a good exit is to chug your drink and then say, “Oops, looks like I need a refill. Excuse me.”
I talked to strangers! But don’t worry, because I’m Jen, I still made it awkward. Ok, so we got on the line for the bar as soon as we arrived and the woman in front of us had her little hanger string thingies hanging out of her dress. You know those things? The little loops that you’re supposed to use to keep your clothes on a hanger, but really they just flop around outside your dress and look tacky? (Pro-tip, cut that shit off and get yourself some of the velvety hangers, nothing falls off them.) Well, this lady didn’t get my memo, so she had hers hanging out. So, I was like, “Hey, do you want me to tuck these in for you?” and she was like, “Oh. Um. Sure. Thank you.” When I tucked them in and I had to touch her back to do so and her back was as soft as butter. It was CRAY-ZEE. And it was her back-back. Like not a spot she could reach on her own with lotion and stuff. Someone had to do that for her! And I was so jealous, because I was like, “Who gets their back exfoliated and lubed up like this? Is that expensive? Can 50-year backs be brought back to this level of softness or is it too late for me? Or was she born with this baby-soft skin?” I had so many questions, but by then I had already tucked her strings and our conversation was over and even though my brain was like, ASK HER ABOUT HER SKIN ROUTINE! I remained in control and did not make it any weirder than I already had. Ten points for me!
THEN we were seated at our table and a group of women was standing near us chatting and I could see that one of the women had her dress undone. The back of her dress was unbuttoned and flapping in the wind. We could see her tags so clearly I knew it was recommended that her dress be hand-washed and hung to dry. After an internal struggle, I decided I needed to make it awkward again, so I sidled up behind her and said, “Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I have a question for you.” Luckily, the group was quite friendly and didn’t mind being interrupted, so I continued, “If it’s a fashion choice that you’ve made deliberately, I don’t want to interfere. You do you. BUT in case it isn’t, I had to ask you: do you know the back of your dress is undone? Is that how you styled it tonight?” (I had to tread lightly, because we’re at a gala, folks. It’s high fashion and I don’t know shit about fashion. You could see all sorts of women making deliberate design choices and I didn’t want to step on her sparkly toes.) I was right, though. She did not mean to have her dress gaping, so I offered to close it up for her. I cannot comment on the suppleness of her back, because I didn’t get a chance to touch it, her dress buttoned behind her neck. And I didn’t notice if her neck was soft, either, because I had to focus up!
Let’s make it awkward. Have you considered becoming a free or paid subscriber?
I was having a HELLUVA time trying to fix her dress. Between her tiny ass buttons plus my sausage fingers and eyes that can’t see small things anymore, it took me entirely too long to help her. Her friends were starting to stare. I was looking a bit like a creeper. I almost gave up, but I persevered. Finally, I got her situated and we were besties now, but I felt way too comfortable and said, “Well, now when you see me later with my dress tucked into my Spanx and my ass hanging out, I’ll need you to fix me. Okay?”
It’s times like these when you can tell I don’t get out much. It’s very apparent that I don’t speak to people normally nor do I socialize with proper adults a lot. It’s fine. I have to remind myself that no one gives a shit about me. After ten minutes at the most, I was forgotten—unlike that lady’s satiny skin.