My uncle is throwing a black-tie Bar/Bat Mitzvah this Saturday night for my twin cousins at an extremely (and annoyingly) fancy hotel ballroom in the City.
Now, I’m not going to go into the fact that the party costs almost double the value of my apartment, because how people earn and spend their money is NONE of my business. What is my business is the torture I have to endure as a result of their expenditures.
The instant my mother, grandmother and three aunts got wind of the party, its location, the dress-code and the guest list, they entered Ludicrous Speed in being annoying.
Immediately, the badgering began, “What are you going to wear?” “How are you going to do your hair?” “When will you buy a dress?” “Do you understand that the party is BLACK TIE and you have to look elegant? Do you?!”
“Yes, yes, I understand. I have to wear a party dress.”
“No. Noooooo. Not a party dress. You have to wear an evening gown. A gown, for evening. To the floor. Do you understand?”
I looked around and over my shoulder, wondering if there were any Jerry’s Kids standing behind me they might be talking to in that tone of voice. There were talking to me like I was an underdeveloped child that needs protective headgear.
This is where I started to get annoyed. I have never ever shown up at a party dressed inappropriately. I have never experienced a wardrobe malfunction. I have never humiliated myself or my family based on my clothing.
(Disclaimer: This statement excludes all references, mentions, assertions or proclamations relating in any way to humiliation endured by me or in conjunction with the humiliation of any other individual(s) due in any form from intoxication, drunkenness, inebriation, tipsiness or resulting lewdness that involved tripping, falling, dropping things, spilling things, use of unauthorized electrical applicances, including microphones, guitars or any combination thereof which resulted in damage sustained by any article of clothing worn by me or anyone in close proximity to me at the time, including but not limited to torn hems, ripped straps, busted zippers, burn holes, broken heels, missing buttons or beading, or visible bra material, as a direct or indirect result of said intoxication, drunkenness, inebriation, tipsiness or resulting lewdness on my part.)
The fact that I bare an uncanny resemblance to Courtney Love on my way out of any given family party should have no bearing on how I look going IN.
You’d think my family would at least give me a little bit of credit. Geez.