This has been a very special month. My darling senior students were graduating on the 2nd in cap & gown, and then: The Prom!
High School proms are an American institution, and though they might now be a feature of English school life, they certainly weren't when I was at school.
So, I decided to make this my Prom, and then set out, in what I laughingly (LOL!) call my mature years, to get ready for a wonderful night out among these young, talented, drop dead gorgeous 18 year-olds poised triumphant on the dizzying brink of independence.
Hm, there was a possibility that I might not quite blend discreetly into this canvas of breath-taking glamour and pulchritude. This might take a little work.
From frog to prince, from sow's ear to silk purse(?!), from Shrek to - er - handsome Shrek - there are precedents for this kind of transformation, but most have involved a fairy godmother and the suspension of disbelief. I would need help.
I would need to go shopping. I would need to go to the beauty salon....... and the hair salon...... and the cloth soukh....... and the tailors.... teehee!
Now, I am not usually very interested in make-up, jewellery and shoes; and shopping just does not do it for me at all - unless it involves Magrudy's, Borders or Virgin. However, in the last six weeks, I have discovered - nay - unleashed! - a whole new side to my character: and it is entirely frivolous. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Pass the gilded invitations, the platinum card, the diamond mine: the diva has arrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiived!
I blame that nice young lady at the beauty salon, who constructed and painted the most wicked long nails for me, a full four days before the Prom. Four days in which I couldn't wash up in case I chipped my Nails. Nor, as I soon discovered, could I fasten my shoes, or all my buttons, or pick up small objects, or turn pages easily, or write legibly. And if you've had an email from me in the last few weeks, you wouldn't believe how long it took to achieve typo-free communication before I learnt to tippety-tapdance across the keys!
The restrictions were mildly frustrating, til I realised how incredibly strong these things are, and how tough nail polish has become.
Oh, it was so much fun waving my fabulous manicure at admiring colleagues and students at school, and I found that my gestures expanded as the days passed, as I half-consciously exhibited the little work of art at the tip of each finger.
Of course, two weeks after The Prom, it was The Omars.
And the invitation said 'Look Divine'.
Cancel the planned trim to lengths commensurate with packing up a department and an apartment and doing ...... erm.... normal life! And get down to the mall for some new nail polish!
One can hardly wear the same clothes for a fortnight; but when one's Nails are a Feature, how can one wear clothes that clash? Clearly, one must have either a new wardrobe, or some new nail polish. Naturally, one does recognise the dangers of excess: polish it is, m'dears.
(Habibibaba is, of course, breathless with gratitude and admiration at my demonstration of uxorial rectitude and thrift.)
And now, in pictures:
Omars Nails (dahlings)