Life's A Cappella by Yessi Smith Page A

compromises, I wound up buying the black dress I now wore. She had wanted ruffles, lace, a tiered skirt, anything but simple. But even she couldn’t turn down the dress I wore. It was black, simple, short and with an open back that revealed the small of my back. If I had a tramp stamp, I’d proudly put it on display with my new dress.
    I put on a bit more makeup than I normally would and chewed my lower lip subconsciously. Well past the point of normal nerves, I wanted to vomit. And pee. I’d love to know what it was about anxiety that made me pee so frequently. But more, I’d love to know what possessed me to agree to go to a charity event with Trent where I would not only meet his colleagues, but his parents too. And I was dressed like a slut, which would then infer that I was a slut. Why had I bought this dress? I should have opted for a Little Bo Peep type dress.
    And the makeup. I had to wash my face. While my dress screamed white trash, my face proved it. I grabbed my wash rag, drenching it in water and was about to start scrubbing my face when Camilla let out a God-awful banshee scream. Startled, I looked at her with my mouth open.
    “What are you doing?” she demanded, taking my wash rag away from me.
    Avoiding eye contact, I tried to take my wash rag back, but Camilla refused to loosen her grip.
    “I’m wearing way too much makeup, Cam. And this dress,” I said in disgust, trying to pull it down, but it wouldn’t budge. It had taken the form of my body and rested there like it belonged, like a second layer of skin.
    “Stop, okay?” she told me, her eyes wider than usual, her pupils threatening to dilate in frustration. “Stop thinking for one minute, Erin, and look at yourself.” She guided me to my full length mirror and forced me to stare at my reflection. “You look amazing.”
    I sighed, reluctant to respond. I did look pretty great, I thought. But not the kind of great I wanted to look when I met Trent’s parents for the first time. I should have gotten something with ruffles that would have hidden my nonexistent boobs better. Too little too late, I thought, and resolved myself to look like a southern tramp, fresh out of the trailer park.
    “You’re such a shit ass,” Camilla advised me, shaking her head dubiously at me. “A world class moron.”
    “What a great friend you are,” I told her dryly, barely able to contain my amusement.
    “If it weren’t for me you’d have changed into a muumuu.”
    “Do you have one?” I asked with hope in my eyes and laughter in my heart.
    “I can’t stand you,” Camilla declared and sauntered away, obviously done with me.
    As much as I wanted to remove my makeup, I was more afraid that I’d mess up what was already there. Yeah, it was too much, but at least it was meticulously and perfectly done. I couldn’t be sure I’d have the same results if I tried again so it was probably better if I just left it alone.
    The event was being held at Jungle Island, which I’d never been to and was eager to see. According to Camilla, it was a fun place to visit during the day with all sorts of animals and shows, and I was hoping to see a couple of the animals at night. My hopes fell with disappointment when I saw the event was being held just outside the actual entrance. Bastards.
    While waiting for Trent, I went to the bar and ordered a White Russian.
    “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the man behind the bar told me. “We’re not serving alcohol tonight.”
    I felt my heart beat at the base of my neck and simply replied, “Oh?” hoping I could suppress the laughter building inside of me. My nervous tendencies flared at the most inopportune times and, to be perfectly honest, sucked huge donkey balls.
    The man continued to look at me solemnly as he replied, “This is a charitable event for alcoholism and addiction.”
    “Right,” I felt myself flush and hoped the sweat dripping down my forehead would have the decency to stay on my face rather than make its way