Recently, I found myself attending the grand opening of a dance studio.  The invitation requested “formal attire” which read to me as “big fancy dress.”   Now, I’ll be damned if I’ve ever turned down the opportunity to sport a fluffy, ruffly thing on a Saturday night, so I found myself standing in front of my closet space trying to narrow down the choices.  Not knowing too much about the event, or anything about the attendees put me in an odd spot.  Erring on the side of fabulous, I went with a voluminous gown over a sleek one.  I topped it with a pink vintage polka dot polyester jacket that looks like something Barbie might have worn in the eighties, had she been a ringmaster.  Deciding to go big or go home, I finished the last minute look with some oversized pearls, rhinestone bangle and studs.  Upon looking looking in the mirror, I wondered if perhaps the outfit would be better saved for New Year’s, but noting that I was already somehow running fifteen minutes late, decided it was now or never.   

I arrived fashionably late to the event to find that I was not the only one who pulled a prom worthy outfit out of the air for the cause.  A very small circle of women also came dressed for the evening wear portion of the beauty pageant I didn’t know we were secretly attending.  I figured I must have done something sartorially correct, because within moments of arriving I was asked to take a photo with the mayor.  It turned out to be a fun and unexpected evening.  I got to wear my fluffy dress and on the way back to the car, discovered a new diner that insists on pie with every meal.  I don’t know that it gets any better than that, but if it does I hope to soon find out.