The devil is in the details

Where did YOU come from?

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, I helped Evan shop for suits (as described in my fifth blog post ever). We joked at the time that ought to make sure his suits (and the formal dresses that I've accumulated recently) got some use and that we ought to go out somewhere and get all dressed up sometime. We kept talking about it on and off for a long time, and last weekend we actually went for it. We found a nice place downtown where people actually get all dressed up (or so we thought) and went there for drinks on Saturday night. I would show you pictures, but he forgot to take pictures while I was there. He must just hate me. (I'm KIDDING Evan, just KIDDING.)

I had fun getting all dressed up, wearing fun makeup and putting on my favorite shoes. (First lesson learned of the night: If you mistakenly cover your face with nail polish remover instead of toner, nothing bad happens. At least until 10 years later when you get cancer.) I wore a long blue dress which is by far my favorite dress that I own. And then I went outside.

As soon as I started walking down the street, I felt overdressed. I could feel people looking at me all the way to the ATM down the street. It was also exceedingly hot and humid that night, and I was sweating like I never had before. (Second lesson of the night: Favorite dress doesn't breathe well.) I decided to take a cab from my neighborhood to Evan's apartment, where I was meeting him since my favorite shoes are not exactly comfortable for walking long distances and I didn't want to have people stare at me on the T. Well, the cabbie was more than slightly impressed with my outfit. He had a thick accent so I couldn't understand what he was saying, but the phrase "If you were my girlfriend" was uttered several times (once followed by something about airplanes and clouds, and other times less intelligible.) He also asked if my mom or my sisters were as hot as I was. I thought that he was a little much, but I decided the ego stroke was a definite win.

Evan and I had to walk a little ways from his apartment to catch a cab since a lot of fans were leaving the Red Sox games due to intermittent rain. Again...there were some people looking at me, and some random people on the street told me that I looked nice. Other people turned and looked at us and shouted "Where did YOU come from?" since it was obvious that we hadn't come from the Red Sox game. Current score: My ego 500: the world 0. (Which is unusual, to say the least.)

It turned out that the clientele of the bar did NOT dress as fancily as we were dressed (apparently the other women who had dressed up decided to forgo formality for dresses that breathed a little better. And then there were the people there who were in jeans...) but it wasn't a big deal because we looked like we had come from some other event that required more formality. We had a great time...well, other than the sketchy guy that was encroaching on our table (and it only took me three tries to get them to make me a drink that I liked.) It was a nice centerpiece to an otherwise good weekend that also included test tube shots with the lab and jeans shopping. :)

posted by Immunegirl @ 1:59 PM