Had a Ball at the Ball—The One in Which My Mom Plays Fairy Godmother

            For those of you who may not be aware, or may just not care, President Barack Obama was sworn-in for his second term yesterday morning (1/22/13). It was also Martin Luther King Day, so a three day weekend, and the cause of an absolute clustermess downtown.

As a result, the entire weekend was filled with various inauguration events, including service opportunities, many tours, motorcade chases (these are probably unsanctioned), and of course, balls and galas. And while President Obama declared there will be only two official inaugural balls (to save on money and military personnel hours), there were still lots of unofficial galas and parties. And on Friday, I was invited to one!

Gabriel, one of the students from the Georgetown Program, is working at the US-Mexico Chamber of Commerce this semester and was offered tickets to the Fiesta Americana ball they co-hosted. At shortly before 3pm on Friday, he very kindly invited me along with two other students. Would I like to go? YES!!! But what will I wear…?!? And so began a two-hour long dash around northwest DC. To the stores in Georgetown, BCBG—flat out, Karen Miller—nothing below the knee, Max Studio—gorgeous dress in black, but too expensive. Okay, onwards to Friendship Heights.

Quick call to my mom while on the bus. “I’m going to a ball!” I squee excitedly. “But help, what do I wear? Do you have anything in a six that will be long enough for me? Jewelry? How will I fit in? I don’t speak Spanish!” Feel my heart racing double-time, and try and calm down on the ride over. Finally after a few more stores, mom meets me and we find a beautiful purple strapless gown at Lord and Taylor in the return to rack section. L&T comes through again, thanks to my mom. Why don’t I ever learn to just look there first?

So we race to pay for it. Oh, and stop for a makeup session at the Bobbi Brown station on the way (perhaps this is the best time to confess that I know very little about the art of makeup. Oh, I was in eighth grade once, too. I can swipe on mascara somewhat evenly, even occasionally a little bit of eye shadow, but god forbid I try anything with blush, and I would be offered a spot in Barnum and Baileys if I even attempted anything beyond chapstick.) So to Sara at Bobbi Brown, you are an artist and you have my heartfelt thanks. Somehow you turned my eyes from shifting hazel to sparkling green, evened my skin tone, and made me feel like I glowed. In fact, I have never been so happy to be so shallowly self-content as you made me Friday night. I’ll be back for a real lesson another time.

A dash home for my necklace from prom, a quick conversation with my dad (who my mom and I both agreed just simply did not understand the situation), and a ride back to Georgetown in the mini van. “No thanks, I think I’ll take a cab to the OAS building, not hop out of the mini van, but thank you for the offer. You were amazing today. I love you”

A dash into my apartment to shimmy into my dress, being careful not to smudge my purple and silver “smoky eye”, step into my heels regretfully, twirl for the mirror (maybe more than once) and a dash to the library where I met Julio, my taxi-partner and wonderful company for the evening, for the cab ride down to the Organization of American States building.

A huge, square marble structure, the OAS building was gorgeous, surpassed in elegance only by the inside, where multiple trees stretched to reach the vast, towering ceiling. The plaza downstairs featured a large fountain and benches just meant to seat couples and friends chatting close while the mariachi band’s cheery tunes filtered out from near the double-doors to the sculpture filled gardens.

Double sets of sweeping marble staircases led to the ballroom, where an amazing group played cello and violin adaptations of popular songs and movie themes. The four of us SWP students mingled with other students from different programs, interns, and frankly anyone who would look our way. And we had pretty great food, enjoyed feeling pretty (I speak on behalf of the boys who I didn’t ask, but imagine did like feeling pretty, who doesn’t?), and got to know each other a bit better. What more could an aspiring Disney princess ask for?

As the night drew to a close, the midnight syndrome kicked in a bit. We waited for a while in the cold for a taxi, weaved through the drunken masses back on campus, and in general couldn’t wait to kick off our dress shoes and lie down for a bit. But, instead of giving in and allowing ourselves to collectively turn into sleepy pumpkins, we decided to be college students.

So we got pizza! And ate it in a dorm room at 1:30am, lounging in our formal wear, shoes kicked off, and hair ruffled. And I’ve never felt more like a princess.