In my “29” years on earth, I treasure life’s misadventures, the likes of which could have never been personally orchestrated even if I tried. Even when at my own expense, they have afforded anything from a good laugh among friends to divine appointments. Such is life.
In my experience, there is nothing more humbling than a beauty snafu or a fashion flub. Whether it has been the unintentional swallowing of a false eyelash at a business dinner, wearing a dress backwards in a fashion show, accidentally wearing a maternity dress to work during menopause, or falling asleep with wet nail polish and waking up with my ring finger glued to my pinky (probably a sign that I should just go ahead and remain single for the rest of my life). All of these glamour blunders let me know that God has his own special sense of humor. Rather than wallowing in my own embarrassment, I appreciate His gifting of writing material that’s too outlandish to be born of my own limited human creativity.
That said, I had some recent unexpected antics among friends surrounding a ballroom dance in Biloxi, MS. Friends from Texas to Florida met up to socialize through the centuries’ old art form and some modernized partner dancing. I am blessed with a dedicated dance partner who shares my study of our craft. We share weekly practice and dance debriefing while enjoying seafood at our favorite dive. This is is not based on any pescatarian dietary restriction, rather it’s just because we love it.
I felt it was only fitting that I give us a proper send off before traveling to the Biloxi dance by frying up a batch of fresh homestyle catfish. Though I had run out of olive oil, we went “down home” with some good ole peanut oil. Then we got all gussied up and arrived early to the Gulf coast. Completely aloof to the fact that I was in a semi-formal with fishnet pantyhose, my dance partner suggested we RELAX at the beach rather than wait in the AIR-CONDITIONED ballroom.
On top of my never having been to the beach wearing fishnet hose before and obviously his underestimation of my hair’s ability to react to nature, we took to the beach, pre-dance, on a gorgeous afternoon until our group caught up with us. Later at the ballroom we had already started dancing when I noticed a few dancers’ absence—not a good sign, but this concern did not thwart our ability to take to the floor. I’ve noticed that in the dance world the band’s downbeat is as serious as any stage play curtain call, even when only dancing socially. I saw the last of my friends arrive out of the corner of my eye and thought from the looks we exchanged “Oh, boy…this night is going to be special.” Additionally, this was one of the first social soirées for my friend after her husband passed away. Would her new instructor be able to draw her out? I didn’t want to see her in a corner just sitting there. I’d keep an eye on this.
Back on the dance floor things were moving right along. Movin’, that is. I ain’t gonna lie. I’m normally a pretty modest dresser, but this time I didn’t realize just what my dress was saying prior to my leaving the house. There was a whole lot of woman going on. Somehow, in a hustle to “Brick House” I started bustin’ a move and my disciplined Asian dance partner whispered… “Slow down.” I thought: Buddy, if you wanted this dance to be a slow ride you shouldda brought Mustang Sally. The band’s bass was awesome with my choice of song of the night a toss-up between Aretha’s “Respect” and Bruno Mars’ “Uptown Funk.” I was totally feeling it in that red ruched Hi-Lo. I got a little breather when the Texas Two Step started playing. That’s when I can expect my Asian dance partner will go full-on cowboy after finding a pretty girl to transport his memory back to the place where he was first trained as a country and western dancer in South Dakota. But this time, before he could locate his cowgirl, a little lady came over and extended her hand–great for me because I could take a much-needed break.
I watched as he nearly spun that little lady off her feet and at one point I heard him give the command, “Duck!” He has done this to me before. First in the waltz, when I never suspected it, he announced forcefully and suddenly, “Now, kick!” Although he was wanting a développé from me, he got a huge belly laugh instead as I completely stopped the dance, doubled over, then looked at him like he had three heads.
So I watched to see if this little lady would respond to “Now duck!” And she DID! Here went the little lady. Backwards, ducking under his sweetheart hold on the right side of his body. Wow! I was so impressed. My awe turned to horror shortly when I realized that my dance partner’s right arm had completely knocked her hairpiece off. This certainly was the conundrum topper to my swallowing of an eyelash at a business luncheon.
Panicked, I gave the signal to another friend on the dance floor and she used the right foot of HER développé to kick it to me as the little lady just kept dancing. That thing looked like a little white critter, so I quickly retrieved it from the floor and pretended I had a crumpled napkin in my hand as I started acting like I was tidying the table. Meanwhile, when the dance was over, I watched that Asian Cowboy proudly exit the dance floor feeling like the Country & Western King of Korea, all because the little critterless lady followed his lead on command to “duck” on his very first try. I snagged the little lady and whisked her off to the bathroom where I helped her assemble her “do” back together while assuring her NOBODY had really seen what happened.
Once I calmed down, I was so pleased to see that not only was my widowed friend dancing, but she was strutting and leading her instructor by the tip of his necktie. We’re going to be alright I told myself. Shortly after, the band played their goodnight waltz and we all headed for home. I am getting really good at all things ballroom, including my newfound friendship with false eyelashes—haven’t swallowed one again. Remembering my seasoned friends’ advice about using olive oil to remove them, I also remembered that I had run out. I was so tired, yet there stood I, balling. Eyeballing the leftover pot of fish grease, I thought here goes nothing. Those babies came right off.
Despite the sand in my reinforced fishnet toes and smelling like fish grease, it was a pretty incredible night of friends, art, and food. If I never find anything more than this hobby to entertain myself, I would be okay with that. It’s one of the sweetest experiences of my life. One of life’s gifts is the human pursuit of fulfillment through a preference of his or her own “fish net” hobby or otherwise. Whether we catch fish, fry fish, strain fish grease for eyelash remover, wear fancy fishnet clothing with sparkles, use a little Aqua Net, or become a fisher of men of sorts, any one of these makes for a chapter of a life story too imaginative to possibly predict. In one day, I felt I had experienced a small part of them all!
