Next time, I might do it like this
- col-lee-elliot-aging-graciously
- March 10, 2023
- 753
What could be more exciting than the anticipation of a grandchild’s wedding in Florida? Several months ahead, the invitation came, and my mind went directly into preparation mode. It had been five years since I last boarded a plane and a variety of time periods since I last saw some family members. It was time to fly into worry mode.
The color theme for the occasion was black with a few splotches of red. I have heard you never wear the same color as the bridesmaids, but I can do black. The next part said semi-formal, a style not much worn in this casual section of the country and certainly not to be found in my closet. A trip through the local clothing store was futile, and the bridal store offered short, colorful 00 sizes. They recommended I try another town.
The internet did me well. I found a dressy black and soft gray top and some palazzo pants that looked like a long skirt — a very long skirt I did not have the expertise to shorten and would probably spend some time walking on. This led right down to shoes.
At my advanced age, I do not torture my feet with stylish stilettos that most likely would cause me to walk funny at the least, if not fall flat on my face or get mired in soft grass up to my soles. I need dressy flats — none such to be found — so back to the internet.
It is hard to find shoes that fit well after being delivered to your front porch. I found some glitzy sandals that seemed appropriate for Florida society, but during their trial run, I discovered I could walk right out of them. The next try fitted somewhat and looked nice, but I couldn’t imagine walking in sand in them or wearing them for about five pain-filled hours. Pain creates new ideas.
In the back of my closet, I found my comfortable, black sandals, only a little worse for wear. A trip to the local craft and sew store netted me rhinestones and other bling that self-stuck nicely to create my sparkly wedding shoes. They worked beautifully because they were at the bottom of my outfit where no one would be looking, and they only showed under the long pants when I walked. I lost a few sparkles throughout the evening, but no one slipped on them, so I got away with it.
And then, of course, there is makeup. I have never worn a lot, but the ads promise instant smoldering eyes and luscious, tempting lips. I can give you smoldering eyes without the makeup. Look me in the eyes when you tell me the cost of the plane ticket and the hotel room. Check out my smolder when you drop me off at one gate at the airport that is 2 miles from my next boarding, with 11 minutes to get there and no carts available, or when I have to check my correctly sized overhead bag because the plane is too full.
Don’t read my luscious lips when there is nothing gluten-free except very small yogurt for $5 in the airport and one of the planes doesn’t even serve water during its flight. Not only are my lips red, so is my whole face.
Nonetheless, after only about five hours from leaving home, I was enjoying the warmth of the sun, ocean breeze and excitement of the weekend. The ceremony was beautiful, all of the activities and food were well planned, and 200 happy people were hugging and loving everyone, even if they didn’t know who the other person was.
The fact I am an incessant worrier pops up from time to time in my column. As I was unpacking upon my return to normal life, I realized there was probably not one person in those 200 who could tell you what I wore or, for most of them, even who I might be. Another valuable lesson to stow in my “Next time, do it like this” book.