Getting my dress for a big, black tie bar mitzvah I was attending was the easy part. It was black. It was a dress. It fit. Enough said. No, the hardest part for me was doing all those annoying prep things a woman has to do to get ready for a big event. What does a man have to do… Get a haircut? Shave? That’s about it. However, I needed to put my black tie transformation into effect a good month before the event.
First on my to-do-list was to tone up my triceps. Having unwisely purchased a sleeveless dress, I was now in the unfortunate position of having to firm up my bat wings so the other guests didn’t think I would take flight when I started dancing. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do that much about my genetically pre-disposed upper-arm waddle, but I thought maybe if I did a month’s worth of push ups, I might succeed in reducing the arm flab to more of a wiggle than a waddle.
About a week before the party, I went to get my hair cut and colored, so it would be grown in just enough by the big event. Then I went in for a marathon tweezing/waxing session. Why marathon? Well, we were just coming out of the dead of winter. I don’t know about you, but I need that extra hair growth on my legs to keep me warm when it’s cold outside. Typically I don’t shave or wax from about November until April. Do I start to resemble a Neanderthal by February. Yes. But at least my legs are warm. Is it attractive? No. But when my husband starts to complain, I just tell him I’m starting a new trend.
Had I been wearing a floor-length gown, I might have just shaved my ankles and called it a day. But I had bought a short dress and I wasn’t wearing pantyhose, so I had to de-hair the whole megilla. The technician was sweating and swearing by the time she got done with me, but I was relieved to see that my legs were as smooth as a baby’s bottom and the unibrow I had begun to sport was once again two distinct eyebrows.
The manicure went quickly, but the pedicure was another story. As with the waxing, I tend to get lazy about my feet upkeep when my toes are not being displayed in gladiator sandals all summer. I don’t usually let it get too bad, though, because if I don’t cut my nails, my husband starts to complain that he feels like he’s in bed with a three-toed sloth.
With my hair, legs, fingers, toes, eyebrows, and upper arms, all the best they could be without me changing places with a Victoria’s Secret model for the night, the big day arrived. Surprisingly, there was a cold snap and the morning of the bar mitzvah the temperature outside plummeted. I ditched my temple dress in favor of long pants, knee socks and boots. Six hours later we returned home to get changed for the party. I locked myself in the bathroom, did my makeup, put on my dress, and emerged like a butterfly from a cocoon.
“How do I look,” I asked my husband as I twirled in front of him.
“You look great!” he exclaimed. “But what’s with your legs?”
“Huh?” I wondered. I had gotten dressed without a full-length mirror so I hadn’t looked below my waist. But now as I hiked a leg up onto the bed, I saw that the knee socks I’d been wearing all morning had been pressed into my legs for six hours by my boots and had left me imprinted with a distinct argyle pattern from the knees down.
“Ack!!! I have etchings on my legs!” I cried. “What will people say?”
My husband smirked. “Tell them you’re starting a new trend.”
©2011, Beckerman. All rights reserved.
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