Formal Wear

I've been thinking I'd
Like to see your eyes
Open up real wide
The minute that you see me

I spent the summer of 2007 listening to nothing but The Counting Crows. Their first four albums were always on my iPad. On my computer. On repeat. On shuffle. I could have recited the lyrics to any one of their songs off the top of my head. As the summer turned into fall, those lyrics stayed in my brain, repeating themselves in snippets and snatches. But as December approached, I zeroed in on one stanza in particular.

Kevin and I had been hooking up in secret since Football season ended in mid-November. Our formal was approaching, and I was determined that we would go public that night, one way or another. I wanted him to admit that we were more than friends, to make some sort of commitment. I wanted his eyes to open up real wide the minute that he saw me. So I knew I'd need a killer dress.

I went to the local mall with my friends the weekend before the dance to find this dress. It didn't take too long for me to zero in on a purple gown. The skirt fell simply with no adornment. The torso was ruched and asymmetrical. The halter straps were decorated with shining gems. I felt beautiful wearing it, and I knew that it would match the only pair heels I owned. Although those strappy, black heels would have gone with almost any dress I bought.

On the day of, I helped decorate the dorm's courtyard with my roommate. We laughed and gossiped and she assured me that everything would go to plan. Then it was time to get ready. I'd been carefully not letting Kevin see the dress, hoping to surprise him.

The beginning of the evening found me on the second story balcony, looking down at twinkling lights and fancy friends. Kevin found me there and presented me with a rose, as the men were supposed to do for their dates this evening. And when he looked at me, I knew the dress didn't matter. He'd brought me a rose because he was feeling all the same things as me and I was beautiful because I was just beginning to fall in love.

The next few hours were a blur of roses, champagne, chocolate, and dancing. It was everything I'd hoped for from my senior prom. By the end of the evening Kevin and I had agreed to be monogomous (though that's a longer story). A friend walked in on us on the couch, so the secret was out, and my perfect dress ended the evening in a crumpled pile on the floor, exchanged for the more comfortable option of shorts and a t-shirt.

It was fun to get dressed up. It was even more fun to realize how little it mattered. To Kevin, and ultimately to me. A pretty dress is fun, but it's just a dress. Years later, when I was shopping for a wedding dress, I bought the third one I tried on. It fit, it looked good, and I didn't need the stress of finding something perfect. Especially since I'd already had the perfect dress, seven years previously, when Kevin wore a tux and gave me a rose and agreed to be my boyfriend.