Fancy Dresses, Fancy Flaws

My laughter infectious, my liner flawless and my heels higher than high. Mr. J wonders how I do it, how I work a room, circling here and about, how are you, congratulations on your write up, that photo spread was amazing and Jesus, that story you broke was captivating.

I queue him in on my secret, "Watch, so and so won't remember me..." as I walk up, hand on forearm, "X! It is so nice to see you again. I was so happy to have run into you at X Event with so-and-so. We still want to meet for lunch sometime!" Recognition rings in their eyes as we share pleasantries and I quickly move us on before any air becomes stale.

"That was smooth."

"You have to place yourself in their memory or the exchange is awkward. Tell a joke or say something funny to bring up next time. Then leave. Never get to the point that weather is discussed."

"Jesus."

"I know. I'm good."

I discussed this with Raymond over a chicken salad wrap at Jason's Deli today, far from fabulous.

"I was on my game, saw the people I needed to, but God, there is at least a two hour refractory period afterward."

Raymond looked at me, confused as to whether I was going to lay something big and awe-inspiring on him or finish a very dirty joke.

I continued, answering the curiosity in his stare, "I feel a sense of self-loathing after. I am not that girl. I mean, I am because I get paid for it and I'm really good at it, but I kind of feel like I stand outside myself, take off my costume when I get home and stare at the pile of fancy clothes and wonder who that girl thinks she is. I grew up poor as dirt. I shouldn't have that pile of fancy clothes. I was a little ragamuffin from a bad neighborhood. I'm not supposed to be here."

I thought of a line stretched thin with the fancy people in dresses who really don't care about me at one end. I'm Ms. J with the funny stories and conversations over lunch, but no matter how much I spend on a clutch they do not think about me after I walk away. There is no second thought after the market closes, after their driver pulls from the curb, after they close their program and brush their teeth.

The other end of the line is a consortium of memories, some good, some bad, but they all rest in a tiny little place far far away where humility is valued and material possessions are the devil. We had bonfires, worshiped a jealous God and judged each other within an inch of our lives. We didn't wear labels, we lived paycheck to paycheck and thought about each other after we clocked out, after supper, after we brushed our teeth. We also struggled, cried very big tears and experienced hardships and abuse.

In the middle is my life now. It is happy, solid and everything I built because I didn't want what came before to be the foundation of my family.

I have nothing to complain about and everything to celebrate.

I just wish a few of my friends from Back Then were happy for me, would see past the fancy dresses and stupid Facebook status updates and say, "Good for you." I wish they wanted to see me when I visited that place far far away. I wish we still had things to talk about.

I just wish that a few of my acquaintances Now would see that I'm not fancy dresses and stupid Facebook status updates and I struggled and cried big tears and suffered abuses that I don't dwell on, but that make me far more relatable and human than they could imagine. I wish they wouldn't judge me so harshly.

And the people in the dresses far more fancier than mine that have no access to my stupid Facebook status updates? I am certain that they have loves in their lives that think about them after they brush their teeth. Our exchanges are business, but maybe one day we'll have genuine conversations and care more than an evening of plated dinners and champagne.

I'd like to think we're all a little awkward when our makeup is discarded into a cotton ball in our hand and a yawn spreads about our lips. I'd like to believe that the woman in the fancy dress leans in to inspect the lines around her eyes, deep in thought, at the same time a mom of three does. Maybe we all look in the mirror and see someone who puts on the fancy for a little while, just to crawl into bed the girl or boy from the place far far away that just wanted to be more than what they were when they started this messy journey. Maybe when we close our eyes we all think about how when you peel back the ornaments we adorn ourselves with we are just a naked kid picking at flaws.

Maybe.