Dashing out of town to attend my 20th high school reunion (I graduated early, yes I did), I breathlessly told my friend Yvonne that I had given up finding a decent outfit for the formal turned semi-formal turned dressier than church clothes event, which was, or could have been the first or second night. I wasn’t all that clear. I supposed I could find a cotton skirt or, uh, something not grease/dirt/snot/food stained.
Yvonne is a native Tucsonan, which I find fascinating since they are so rare. Her parents at some point in lineage were from Mexico. With her black-as-night hair, porcelain white skin, and splashy red lips, I can’t help but see her as the visage of 1940s era Tucson, although with four boys aged 9, 7, 3ish, and not yet 1 it has to be the case that she’s sweaty, disheveled, and exhausted at least some of the time.
In any event, Yvonne dashed into her closet, pulled a few hangers off the rack, and sent me on my way. MIL pressed my lightly rumpled dress and the 7 YO girl helped edit my jewelry for the first night. I love this BCBG dress. I’m just a breath too big for it and probably should have used scaffolding to hold stuff in. As it was, my pantyhose only lasted an hour or so before being stashed in Caddo Artist‘s handbag. The pre-prom photograph doesn’t do the dress justice.
Yvonne had me doubly prepared for Night Two. I forget the label on this draped-neck number. Also, sadly, I don’t have a photo of the bottom half of the dress and its soft sweet double ruffle at the hem. I do have this.
I’m sure I was saying something endlessly fascinating like, “Yes, I did so go to Norman High School. I did too. I swear to God we went to high school together.” Alternatively, it may have been, “Yes, I do remember the time I got involved with that ridiculously good crowd of smart, kind-hearted, and responsible kids who for whatever reason committed 7 felonies and 13 misdemeanors together.”
What I lack in photographic evidence of Yvonne’s excellent taste and generosity in loaned dresses I have in spades regarding shoes. Yes, Yvonne even sent me forth into reunionland with footwear more lovely than Cinderella’s. While the dresses and shoes must return to the owner, this photo of my feet with my sweet’s is mine forever, just as Handsome Hubster is mine to have and to hold (unless, of course, we have some sort of hard drive failure).
Thanks big time Yvonne. I would have been nekked and barefooted were it not for you.