Last night my parents and I met our very close family friends at one of the (only) upscale restaurants in El Paso. I decided I was going to welcome in the New Year with flair. Dressing as divalicious as possible was a must. I curled my hair and teased it to tears, covered my body in black spandex, and topped it off with my beautiful, new Michael Jackson jacket. I’m talking chains, gold braided thread, and at least twenty gold buttons-- the whole nine yards! Sitting in the pitch black car on the drive over, I was feeling around for my phone inside my clutch. “Lipstick. Lipgloss. Kleenex. Different lipstick. Powder compact... Phone? Phone? Where is the phone?” I pored the entire contents onto my lap. “Ah-ha! PHONE!” As I victoriously dropped each item back into the purse I looked over at my mother and said, “Momma. I am a big girl.”
She looked at me with a crinkled brow and said, “oooookay.”
“Remember that little plush purse I had when I was little. It was pink and had ‘Danielle’s Big Girl Purse’ embroidered in yellow thread on the outside. When you opened it up there were lipsticks, a powder compact, a hankie, and a phone. Well, I’m holding the real thing now, and for the first time I don’t feel like I’m getting dressed up for a school dance or just pretending to be adult for others. I really AM a big girl.” I circled the perimeter of a gold button with my index finger as I explained.
We walked in and the hostess just happened to be an acquaintance I had known my whole life. She was in the exclusive party crowd in high school that was collectively known to not be very fond of me-- which I was okay with because I didn’t want to be friends with people if they did not like me for me anyways. I anticipated my 'big girl' revelation to vanish like a repeat of the scene in Somewhere In Time when Christopher Reeve looks at the date on his penny and is catapulted back to his reality. After a short conversation with her, I joined our quaint little dinner party and it dawned on me as I sat down-- I didn’t loose my footing as bits of my high school past pounded on my doors. Never once was did I shift around on my platform heels. Never did I suddenly feel stupid in my bold outfit and feel like fidgeting with my hair. Never once did I do anything except lounge back in my own skin and smile. How did this happen? Did this happen overnight? When did I suddenly stop pretending to be so calm and confident and actually start being it? When did I start to truly carry that ‘big girl purse?’
A while later, a party of women and men in their early twenties teetered in and sat at the table next to us. All of them were dressed fairly ridiculously... kind of like Victoria’s Secret bra bar had a baby with the sequin isle at Hobby Lobby. One totted a long, fitted mens blazer, patterned tights, and heels. That’s it. I was sitting in between two of my best friends, both teenage boys, and their eyebrows shot up simultaneously-- but not in a “Whoa baby come over here and share some of that sugar” way, but instead in a “Ah! *cough* Oh dear! You seemed to have forgotten your pants.” I watched her throughout the evening. She loudly attracted seedy guys from the bar, tried to get the dj to go shot for shot with her, and flipped her hair and dangly earrings in just about everyone’s face. However, every once and a while she would retreat to a dark corner to awkwardly tug at her clothing, try and mask her eyes with more eyeliner, and ask the waiter for water before he brought the next round. She would take a deep breath, wipe the crinkles off of her brow, and then jump and sing her way back to her friends. It was all a facade, all a veil to who she really was. Who was she underneath all the revealing clothing? What would she be like if she wasn't pretending to be the woman she thought others would accept? Does she snort when she laughs? Does she do a mean impersonation of Sarah Palin? Does she like drinking milk with her dinner instead of martinis?
As I walked out of the restaurant, I noticed her sequined purse hung on the back of her chair. Carrying a big girl purse does not make you a big girl... being in your own skin while you carry it, does.
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