Prom night

Once again, I am reminded that, were it not for my fondness of...well, guy parts, I would be a perfect candidate for hardcore butch. Most of this time, that's not really a problem; I like getting my hands dirty, doing projects, clomping around in my jeans and sneakers.

But then a night like this comes along, and I am brought up short by my staggering inability to be a girl. And by what? The simple act of painting my nails.

You see, it's prom night. yuki_onna never got to go to her prom, so for her birthday this year grailquestion, godlyperspectiv, and a cast of other friends are throwing her a prom. Froofy dresses, 90s music, spiked punch, and general promi-ness galore.

Thanks to the fact that I've gained back a few pounds, I have a froofy dress. Otherwise, Cinderella would have had no dress for the ball (see, everything has an upside). But now that I'm trying to get ready, I'm freaking out. I am terrible at makeup, and the bright purple glitter of my fingers and toes will demand that I just keep boogeying so no one can actually focus on the quality of the workmanship. (If it was red, I could tell people that we'd assisted at an accident and I'd been putting compression on an artery. It would at least give me an excuse.)

And the dress is a little too big, and I am afraid that I will just look stupid and everyone else will have better dresses than me. I'm a bundle of insecurity, sitting here in my undies, waiting for my nails to dry sufficiently for the next step in getting ready.

Wow, is that prom, or what?