BY KAREN WHITE-WALKER
I give up! For somebody who’s in her advancing years, I still struggle and strive to cling to society’s niceties, but what do you get? Embarrassment and mortification!
My writing career has afforded me a few privileges that maybe I otherwise wouldn’t have been exposed to. I mean, like the opportunity to interview ‘people in high places.” Hence, I’ve wondered and scrutinized them as to why THEY were selected and not the rest of us. Believe me, we’re the lucky ones, for under all that hoopla, I sometimes can sense in them a loneliness, a longing to still be like one of us.
Experts claim that fame and power is an addiction and, just like any drug, one keeps hungering for his next fix, but is never satisfied. No, thank you, but after what happened to me a few years ago, I still wished I could have faded into oblivion. Funny, but that’s exactly what happened on that horrifying night.
Now looking back, unfortunately, I was invited to a classy affair at a highly affluent country club. Trust me, what these members pay alone in yearly dues I could live on for a year—or two. Hey, come to think of it, I practically do! Well, for this once-in-a-lifetime event, I wanted to be decked out in something “extraordinary.” You know, be a real stand-out, my attire a real eye-catcher. (My dear readers, please hold that thought.) An off-the-rack dress would never do and why? Because for this “one moment in time,” I was going to pretend to be somebody I wasn’t. How pathetic is that? I thought to myself, I’ve been hanging around those celebrities too long, for I’ve always advocated for people to be real and true to themselves. For now though, I shoved my fervent beliefs aside and off I went to a fashion designer to have an original made. I pored over hundreds of fabrics and finally settled on a rich brocade with an ice-blue print on a buttercream background. I tell ya, Queen Elizabeth should have had such exquisite taste.
What I thought would be a magical evening finally arrived. With confidence and with more excitement than should be allotted for a woman my age or any age, I entered the “by invitation only” sanctuary. I don’t know what made me do a little twirl with what space the overflowing room allowed me, but in that very instant had I become living proof of that quote that summarizes what happens when people grow older—“Once a man, (woman) twice a little boy (girl).” It served me right that the halfway spin left me woozy, both from my exuberance and the possibility of my being the best-dressed female on the floor. Forget it. I was the best-dressed one in the room, so I sent up a quick prayer that I must remain modest and humble, like suddenly there would be a need? God give me strength, for right before my horrifying eyes, I saw it! And now I wasn’t quivering from excitement, I was trembling from mortification. Oh no, it couldn’t be! Certainly, my disbelieving eyes weren’t seeing what I THOUGHT I was seeing. How could the fates be so cruel? What unforgivable sin had I ever committed to deserve this? Well, I have pulled a few boners—the “stupid mistake” definition not the other one) but I’ve never spent more than three minutes tops in the confessional, so how sinful could I really be? Just take a deep breath, I told myself, in and out, in and out, and when I plopped myself down on the rich brocade, overstuffed couch with an ice-blue print on a buttercream background, I completely disappeared! You guessed it, that damn couch was upholstered in the EXACT same material as my beautiful “original” gown! I wondered if I could sue both the designer and the upholsterer for mental anguish. What, fashion designers and couch upholsterers never check with one another? There oughta be a law. Did I have grounds to sue for mental anguish?
‘You’re better off staying put and not breathing,’ I told myself. ‘They’ll never see that you’re here.’ Tell me, what would you have thought had you walked into a formal affair and saw a reserved-looking man sitting on some horrified-looking older woman’s lap? Please keep it to yourself. Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough?
Karen White-Walker is a published writer and playwright. Her stories have appeared in numerous newspapers and magazines, and eight of her plays have been produced. “I’m most comfortable writing articles about and for senior citizens,” she says, “because being one myself, I know of the trials, frustrations, and the feelings of accomplishment that make us who we are today—a feisty bunch!” If you want to read more of her light, humorous and uplifting articles, go to medium.com@karenwhitewalker and hit follower.