Raining on Prom Night….

I have very bad luck with events.  Especially if I am supposed to show looking somewhat presentable.  This has always been the case.  I went to my junior prom( with a senior) and somewhere between the oyster bar and the gym, all decked out in “Moonlight Serenade”, my date threw up on my dress.  Oysters and beer on my mint green chiffon. Mint Green and oyster yuck all over me and the floorboard of his maroon Thunderbird.  Needless to say, I went home and he did too.  I did not go to my senior prom.

Several years later I was invited to my first wrap party for a movie I worked on with Jacklyn Smith- nooooo, I was not an added angel.  I was her Hungarian maid in a really bad movie of the week, but it was a start.  I had a hell of a perm.  So, there, down south, in the thick heat of an August afternoon, I got decked out in my Victor Costa strapless blue dress which I specifically purchased to show off my fresh tan. I had visions of arrival moments dancing in my head- as did my “date”- my roommate-who had visions of arrival moments dancing in his head too-but for different reasons.  As we made our way down the series of stairs that led from my apartment door to the parking lot, (I,in my strappy, black heels and he in his something very late 80’s I can’t seem to remember)- I felt something stinging the back of my (very tan) legs.  And then suddenly I noticed the stinging was reaching up into the innards of my dress and legs.  Yes, right there.

Somehow the click, click, clicking of my strappy black heels interrupted a bees nest underneath the stairs that sent the occupants of said nest right up my dress.  My size 4 Victor Costa.  Stinging everywhere you can imagine.  All of a sudden I was a flurry of azure, lifting up my dress in the middle of a parking lot, ( yes, mom I was wearing underwear)flapping and screaming, as my roommate tried to piece together what was happening.

“Calm down”, he said-“you are just making them mad”

“YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN.”

There was not one bee anywhere near him.  Not one.

Bees everywhere.  Little stinging bastards going after every inch of flesh I had exposed.  I was going to that party.  No doubt about it.  I WAS GOING TO THAT PARTY.

De-bee’d and still stinging, we rushed back inside to survey the damage.  Raised tan welts everywhere.

EVERYWHERE.

After a Witch Hazel and Benadryl combo- we arrived at the party two hours late-but I was there.  Only, because of the obvious signs of bee-age- I had to choose another ensemble:

Black linen pants and a long sleeve white shirt. Had to leave the black strappys home too.

So there I was in the middle of August in Southeastern North Carolina.  My perm was curl times 100.  My roommate looked fabulous.  I looked like a fucking waiter with hives.

And just this past weekend- as I am making my way to a cocktail party to celebrate the mid-way mark for another film I worked on recently-just 20 feet from the entrance-decked out with my husband-who always has his raincoat-just in case-I felt a teeny tiny rain drop.  A teeny tiny raindrop fell on my face as we were walking across the way-to there-just twenty feet away-to shelter and show business.  We quicken our pace-husband covered-me, not daring to wear a raincoat- over this?  Outfit?  I can see people mingling on the patio -hear the clinking of the glasses-and without warning-none at all, it pours.  Sheets of rain.  Sheets.  We really quicken the pace.

What is that rule?  If you run in the rain you get wet faster?

Did not matter.

Anti-frizz immediatly washes out, I am sure.

Finally in tent, removing water running down- well- everything. Sure my mascara is running too.

Husband not as wet as me.  No comment.

Making some kind of something out of my hair and there, coming over to us is big name and super cool director.

“Welcome!”, he says. “New England weather, huh?!”

No comment.

My husband and I make our way to the bar. A thick mass of other wet sticky people.  Apparently, the tent has a leak.  I apply a fresh slathering of “cool pink”-and rearrange wet fabric. We toast to the night not caring about appearances of any kind.

One of the best parties ever.