mom said, frowning at Laner, who in turn threw her arms in the air in exasperation at me.
The dress went back into the chocolate-brown plastic wrap curtain and stayed m my mothers closet for a week until she finally took it back to Gladys at Saks, much to the chagrin of Gladys, who was sure the next time she saw it, I would have been wearing it in my prom picture.
“She has a dream,” my mother said, handing the dress to the dejected Gladys who, in turn, handed my mother a return slip.
After two months, with the exception of—blech—John Wanamaker‘s, I had exhausted my search through the entire East Coast of the United States of America. I was done.
I gathered my mother, Laner, Amy Chaikin, and Julie Pelagatti, those closest to me who had tried their best in helping me see the dream come alive.
“Ladies,” I said taking a deep breath, “1 regret to announce that I will not be attending Harriton High School’s 1987 senior class prom due to the fact that I have nothing to wear.”
Some were not strong enough to take the news.
“OH, FOR CHRISSAKES! SHE’S GONE OFF HER ROCKER!” my mother shouted, storming out of the room.
I looked at those who had the strength to stay, sighed, and picked up the phone to call my date and tell him.
“What if you made the dress?” Laner wondered aloud.
I put the phone down, smacked my head and yelled, “Eureka!” I was going to make the dress! How hard could it be?
“Mom!” I screamed, “I’m going to make the dress!”
“I’m calling Gladys to save the Victor Costa just in case,” she shouted from the other room.
“FORGET IT!” I screamed back at her. “I AM NOT WEARING THAT STUPID BLUE POLKA-DOT THING!”
“YOU’LL BE SORRY!” she screamed back.
“I HAVE A DREAM!” I shouted in teenage defiance.
“FINE! GO LIVE YOUR DREAM!” she shouted back, and then into the phone, “HEY, GLADYS? FORGET I CALLED! MY DAUGHTER IS A LUNATIC!” Then she hung up.
I didn’t speak to my mother for the rest of the day.
For the next week, Amy, Julie, and I combed the stores, trying to find the right parts for my dress. Again, there was trouble. We found the crinoline, but the crinoline was see-through, so we bought two and figured we’d put one over the other. When Laner saw that it was still see-through, she went out and bought me a black slip to go underneath. I had the bottom taken care of.
It was becoming a bit more difficult to find the top, though, and the search was wearing on my army.
“I have finals to study for,” Amy said when I asked her to come with me to Delaware for the day.
“I’m looking for some gold hoop earrings to go with my dress,” Julie said.
“Wax buildup,” Laner said, pointing at the pristine floor.
I knew I had reached madness, but I was determined that if I never saw my classmates again, the last time they’d ever see me, they’d see the prettiest, most fashionable, and original-looking girl at the prom. I was this close, and even though all of my supporters had fallen by the wayside, I was still marching on.
I decided to head to South Street, a place I had already checked, but figured it was worth one more go.
South Street in Philadelphia was, in the late eighties, the shopping zenith for up-to-date funky duds. If they didn’t have what I needed, then I was done. There was one place I hadn’t tried on South Street—a thrift store whose name I forget. The store isn’t there anymore, but I’m sure you could figure out where it was. The joint smelled so bad, demolition couldn’t have fumigated it.
South Street might have been funky, but this thrift store smelled too funky. The stench of mothballs, combined with a particular armpit fume meant I had only a short amount of time before I’d start to gag, so I sucked in my breath and searched quickly. As luck would have it, the third dress I saw had the exact top I had envisioned—a velvet bodice that curved around the boob area, which could give my flat chest area a
The dress went back into the chocolate-brown plastic wrap curtain and stayed m my mothers closet for a week until she finally took it back to Gladys at Saks, much to the chagrin of Gladys, who was sure the next time she saw it, I would have been wearing it in my prom picture.
“She has a dream,” my mother said, handing the dress to the dejected Gladys who, in turn, handed my mother a return slip.
After two months, with the exception of—blech—John Wanamaker‘s, I had exhausted my search through the entire East Coast of the United States of America. I was done.
I gathered my mother, Laner, Amy Chaikin, and Julie Pelagatti, those closest to me who had tried their best in helping me see the dream come alive.
“Ladies,” I said taking a deep breath, “1 regret to announce that I will not be attending Harriton High School’s 1987 senior class prom due to the fact that I have nothing to wear.”
Some were not strong enough to take the news.
“OH, FOR CHRISSAKES! SHE’S GONE OFF HER ROCKER!” my mother shouted, storming out of the room.
I looked at those who had the strength to stay, sighed, and picked up the phone to call my date and tell him.
“What if you made the dress?” Laner wondered aloud.
I put the phone down, smacked my head and yelled, “Eureka!” I was going to make the dress! How hard could it be?
“Mom!” I screamed, “I’m going to make the dress!”
“I’m calling Gladys to save the Victor Costa just in case,” she shouted from the other room.
“FORGET IT!” I screamed back at her. “I AM NOT WEARING THAT STUPID BLUE POLKA-DOT THING!”
“YOU’LL BE SORRY!” she screamed back.
“I HAVE A DREAM!” I shouted in teenage defiance.
“FINE! GO LIVE YOUR DREAM!” she shouted back, and then into the phone, “HEY, GLADYS? FORGET I CALLED! MY DAUGHTER IS A LUNATIC!” Then she hung up.
I didn’t speak to my mother for the rest of the day.
For the next week, Amy, Julie, and I combed the stores, trying to find the right parts for my dress. Again, there was trouble. We found the crinoline, but the crinoline was see-through, so we bought two and figured we’d put one over the other. When Laner saw that it was still see-through, she went out and bought me a black slip to go underneath. I had the bottom taken care of.
It was becoming a bit more difficult to find the top, though, and the search was wearing on my army.
“I have finals to study for,” Amy said when I asked her to come with me to Delaware for the day.
“I’m looking for some gold hoop earrings to go with my dress,” Julie said.
“Wax buildup,” Laner said, pointing at the pristine floor.
I knew I had reached madness, but I was determined that if I never saw my classmates again, the last time they’d ever see me, they’d see the prettiest, most fashionable, and original-looking girl at the prom. I was this close, and even though all of my supporters had fallen by the wayside, I was still marching on.
I decided to head to South Street, a place I had already checked, but figured it was worth one more go.
South Street in Philadelphia was, in the late eighties, the shopping zenith for up-to-date funky duds. If they didn’t have what I needed, then I was done. There was one place I hadn’t tried on South Street—a thrift store whose name I forget. The store isn’t there anymore, but I’m sure you could figure out where it was. The joint smelled so bad, demolition couldn’t have fumigated it.
South Street might have been funky, but this thrift store smelled too funky. The stench of mothballs, combined with a particular armpit fume meant I had only a short amount of time before I’d start to gag, so I sucked in my breath and searched quickly. As luck would have it, the third dress I saw had the exact top I had envisioned—a velvet bodice that curved around the boob area, which could give my flat chest area a
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