the Navy Ball that wasn't

Every year in October, there's a Navy Ball. It's like prom. For grownups. With (legal) booze. At a casino out in town. The men wear dress uniforms (be still, my heart), and the women wear typical prom attire.

When I found out about it, going to it became my mission. Nay, my obsession. I went to three high school proms (and countless other school dances). I LOVED THEM. Jason didn't go to a single one. Oh no, thought I, this cannot be. I must be the one to make him endure a formal dance.

And how bad can it be for the guys? They'll be surrounded by beer and tipsy, well-dressed women.

So I wheedled. I brought it up incessantly. I begged. I may even have whined. Whatever, it worked. Jason bought our tickets. I splurged $200 on a dress. I took the day after off from work.

And then he checked the duty schedule. Guess who's on duty on ball night? Guess who has to be sober and at his recall number in case he's needed? JUST GUESS.

That's right, HIM. -------------------->

(Please feel free to shake your fingers in a scolding manner at this time...

...OK, done?)

So we can't go. I returned the dress on Saturday. I loved that dress. It looked good in all the right places and covered up all the bad places. It was two sizes smaller than I thought I needed. It dipped so low in the back that I was contemplating double-sided tape to keep my buttcrack under wraps (you're welcome). It was a gorgeous deep purple, like an eggplant--a color I never would have dared to wear in high school. And, holy boobs, Batman (Batman is also to blame for the blurry picture). It was, dare I say it... SEXY for a big girl-sized dress. My desire to avoid any unfortunate back fat spillage even prompted me to start eating healthier--and I dropped three pounds, just like that.



Alas. Woe is me.

Maybe by next October I'll have lost enough weight to fit into one of the formal dresses I still have from high school.

(I hear you laughing. Stop it.)

A GIRL CAN HOPE.

Perhaps this one. It's a size 4.

(OK, I know. I'm laughing with you this time. I would have to wire my jaw shut to fit into that.)

But I would promise to leave the awful ex-boyfriend at home if I ever got to wear it again.

I have significantly better taste in men these days. See the above one in uniform.

And this time, feel free to cyber-pat him on the back for being a good sport and trying to take me to the Ball in the first place.