Florescent lighting had to have been invented by a man. I’m certain of it. No woman would ever do that to another woman. Every line, every spot, every wayward hair that looks somewhat manageable, miniscule even, in normal lighting, florescent lighting amplifies it to look like Armageddon has just smacked you in the face. This little thought occurred to me while I was in my 10th dressing room of the day trying in vain to find THE perfect little black dress for New Year’s Eve. Something sexy but classy. Alluring but not too revealing. Something that says you have to buy me dinner first but then who knows? But so far, with that god awful lighting shining down on my pale skin that hasn’t seen a tan in 6 months, everything I tried on just made me look like the freaking Ghost of Christmas Past. Not a good look for me.
I have a blind date for New Year’s Eve. And the way my dress search was going, I was beginning to hope he actually was blind. I’ve never really gotten into the excitement of New Year’s Eve. Partially because the one New Year’s Eve that I was actually part of a couple, my better half was spending the evening with his mommy. Ah, memories.
As far as blind dates go, I haven’t had much success. But on New Year’s Eve? Talk about pressure! The poor sucker, er, I mean lucky gentleman, who will be my date for the evening and I are going to a party. We’ll be surrounded by couples who, with the help of cheap champagne, will most likely feel the need to show outrageous displays of public affection. And Bachelor #1 and I will be exchanging little anecdotes from our childhood all the while pretending not to notice the couple practically making a baby in the corner. Nah, this isn’t going to be awkward at all.
So this brings me to the big decision of the evening. Do I kiss him at midnight? Not kiss him? Do I look easy if I do? Like a prude if I don’t? Dang, do I actually have to shave above the knee?
In this digital day and age, it’s no big deal to snap a naked picture with your camera phone and everyone from teenagers to grandparents are “sexting”. And oh my good lord, what does it mean when you “poke” someone on Facebook?! I remember when a little over the sweater action was considered risqué. And I’m only 25! But just reading that, I sound like I’m 75. But honestly, whatever happened to actually getting to know someone? To that awkward will he, will he not, kiss me dance at the front door when he drops you off after the third date? (Who are we kidding? We all know it’s after the first date. But only if he bought dinner!) I miss that. The anticipation of it all is half the fun. Well maybe not half…
So this New Year’s Eve maybe I’ll make him wait. Oh maybe I’ll luck out and he’ll have spinach dip in his teeth and I’ll point it out at 11:59. Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll get the little butterflies in my stomach and I won’t even be able to wait until midnight to kiss him. With the help of dim lighting and cheap champagne, anything is possible. But wait. What if I have spinach in MY teeth and he’s spent the whole night waiting until 11:59 to point it out to ME?! Crap. There’s never florescent lighting around when you need it.0