This is getting scary.
I am referring to the alarming increase in costs associated with successfully dolling up a teen for the Prom. Good Lord, I could own a pimped out convertible Mercedes by now. But a fabulous sparkly gold gown is way more useful. You know what’s great about a Mercedes though? I could probably use it more than once.
Actually, we got a reasonably good price for the sparkly gown. We found it in an obscure corner at the mall, but unfortunately, it was the very last size 3. Amanda, 16, tried it on and immediately declared it was the “absolute perfect dream dress.” There was only one problem. The dress was a little too big. Isn’t that hilarious? I fondly remember the days when my left thigh was a size 3. So we had the sales lady call 47 stores in the Houston area, and wouldn’t you know it, there was no size Ones left anywhere. Probably because no normal human being has ever actually been a size One, except for maybe Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen.
After much debate, and since it was, after all, the “perfect dream dress” we bought it anyway, deciding to have it altered to fit. Which of course totally canceled out the benefit of the relatively low price to begin with.
I took Amanda to the alterations store where we met an overly friendly seamstress named Gert, who’d been doing alterations for, like, 100 years. She had a Sears sewing machine that looked about that old, too. Just as I was beginning to doubt my choice of alteration professionals, she began pulling and yanking and grabbing and pinning until, suddenly, the previously sagging potato sack looked like a Cinderella gown. Wow.
“I have a suggestion, ” said Gert. “Since this dress requires a little ‘enhancement’ in the upstairs department, if ya’ know what I mean, you might want to go to the mall and pick up some chicken cutlets.”
What the heck? Is she suggesting Amanda gain some weight before the prom, and also, the mall does not sell chicken cutlets the last time I checked.
Meanwhile, Amanda was standing there in front of the full-length mirror turning 27 shades of red, because it’s extremely easy to embarrass a teenaged girl. Gert figured I was confused and explained that “chicken cutlets” are these slimy, rubbery, skin-like bra enhancement thingys that *ahem* less-endowed women use for special occasions. I looked at Amanda, and she looked at me, silently exchanging an “Omigod” moment.
So we smiled very maturely, thanked the ever-so-helpful seamstress, paid the overpriced bill, and got the hell out of there before our very unlady-like laughing fits could begin. In the car, I couldn’t drive for 10 whole minutes because we were laughing so hard. “Mom, I wouldn’t wear chicken cutlets in my bra even the President called and offered me a million bucks for research purposes! Just imagine it…I’m gettin’ really crazy on the dance floor and one of those things slip right out of my dress and slide across the floor like a tan-colored squid. Imagine explaining THAT to my date!”
So today, being a relaxing and stress-free Sunday, I’m going to take my teenager to Victoria’s Secret so she can try on 58 “enhancement” bras for her prom dress, but we’ll definitely be skipping the chicken cutlets. And then we’ll spend the next 8 hours foraging the damn mall for the perfect shoes, the perfect handbag, the perfect jewelry, the perfect hair accessories, the perfect tanning spray, the perfect nail polish and the perfect perfume. I told you it was getting scary.
It’s a good thing we got such a great price for that dress. Do they offer Prom Loans at the bank?