We have to go.

 

This is the text that came through while I was out-of-town last week. Hubs telling me we need to fork out a few Benjamins for an event that he has to appear at. It’s the “politically” right thing to do.

 

Sure. I type back. Charge it. Not like we have the cash lying around. In fact, this particular event cost beaucoup bucks last year. They brought the price down this season, but anything times two is more, and Hubs insists I come with him.

 

A day before the event, Hubs sends me another text. Someone bought us 2 tix. We’re going for FREE! Nothing like that four letter word that brings a smile to my face!

 

And before I rub the sleep from eyes the next morning, a friend texts to say she’s free to hang out. Sorry, we have plans, I text plan. She responds, Okay, I’ll take the girls for you. Babysitting fell in our laps, and as I blow dry my hair, I imagine my fairy Godmother saying, “See, it’s all gonna work out. Now about your dress…”

 

And this is about the time I have my mini-crisis. Women and their wardrobes is cause enough for indecision, but the average gal will fall back on her “black dress” go-to. But this girl has to first decide between dress or sari. American or Ethnic. Blend in or stand out.

 

Between a friend’s afternoon birthday and the drugs I took all week for my back, I felt like calling it a night at 4:30PM, and we weren’t due to arrive at Hubby’s event till seven. So the moment we arrive home, I lay down for a nap. Hubs wakes me up a little before six with a Sleeping Beauty smooch, that, how shall we say, leads to dessert before dinner. So now we’re late. But smiling. And smiling is good.

 

Arrive at the Westbury Gardens for the Harvest Moon Dinner, and even as we approach the desk, Hubs leans over and says, “I really hope our names are on the list.”

 

Turns out not only are they there, “Dr. & Mrs. Paulus. Yes. You been seated at Table Number One.” Umm, the head table? Whaaaaat?

Walk in and all eyes are on me. Okay, maybe not all, but the blue and silver glittery swhoosh can’t help but draw attention. But I guess I knew that when I squeezed into my Cinderella lehenga, I brushed it off with a “This ol’ thang?” giggle, because I have a love hate relationship with attention. I love it. But sometimes I hate that I love it. And as I get older, sometimes I want to be a wallflower and just take it all in without causing waves. I blame Miss America. She makes me want to have my sari and wear it too.

 

The stars are all out tonight. White lights string across the entire ceiling of the grand tent that holds over 800 guests. And this is how I always imagined my real life fairytale. On the arm of my prince, being escorted into a room twinkling with magic and resounding with music. The dance floor is calling my name. But… first to eat. Drink. And mingle.

 

And while I wait in the fish and chips line (there are little stands all around the periphery with different cuisines) I meet the lead singers of the live band performing that night.

 

“Great sound!” I say. “I am loving the music!” I like to tell people when I like something. 🙂

 

“Thanks, thanks,” the fella says, “And look at you. You’re the prettiest thing here in that dress of yours.”

 

“This ol’ thang.” I say, and then I let him in on a little secret. “The thing is, I never went to my prom, so when we walked in tonight and heard you guys sing, I told my husband, I can’t wait to dance with you!”

 

The two musicians nod and laugh, and the male singer says, “Well, I better see you on that dance floor tonight, getting your prom dance on, okay?”

 

“Of course.” I assure him I came here to dance. More than anything else.

 

And as soon as the band kicks off their first song, I hobble to a stand (still not a pro at waltzing in stilettos) and hold my hand out to Hubs, who is in the middle of a bite. “Now?” he asks.

 

“I love this song!” They’re playing “Stand By Me.”

 

“But you love every song,” he says. Good point. Regardless, this girl is ready to dance. And we’re not on the dance floor two minutes when I hear a shout-out from the band, “That’s right, Raj! Get your Prom dance on, girl!”

Hubs turns to me with a “How does he know your name?” and I just laugh. You know me already. In a room of 800 guests, I managed to find the person with the mic for the night and made sure to tell him my name. 🙂

 

They perform Michael Jackson and Carly Rae, Katy Perry and Bruno Mars, and every song is done so well, dance moves an’ all. The take us back with the Jackson Five, Lil Wayne and Tina Turner and Prince, and each time he sings, “I just want your extra time and your..[pa-na-na-na-na-na-na,] kiss,” I lean in for a peck. A little PDA never hurt anybody, after all. In between songs, I snag a chocolate-covered cheesecake pop—a bite-sized sphere of explosive yum to the yum!

 

And the band brings us home with Bon Jovi. Last song is “Living on a Prayer,” and everyone left on the dance floor sings at the top of our lungs: “It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not. We’ve got each other…Woooah, we’re half way there. Ooooh, livin’ on a prayer.”

 

And I’m in his arms, and I can feel Hub’s lips on my ear. “It does make a difference if we make it or not. We’re gonna make it.”

 

It’s pouring outside as Hubs pulls up the carriage, I mean, car, and the SUV doesn’t turn into a pumpkin when the clock strikes midnight. And I don’t lose a silver slipper, although my heels sink a tad into the wet, gravel-paved, road. But the dress must come off, (can’t imagine sleeping in all that sequins) and real life greets us in the morning with the dishes. Breakfast. Laundry. Life.

 

Why was last night so special for me, you might ask? Was it the outfit? Gorgeous, but nope. The shoes? Hot, but not it either.

 

Dancing: that’s what did it for me. Maybe it’s because no one ever asked me in those younger years, when I was the wallflower at every school dance. That moment when you squeal to your friends, “He asked me to the prom!” never happened for me. Or all those Disney movies when the girl gets swooped up in a twirl to the words “Ever just the same, ever a surprise.” All I know is that I love me a slow dance with my prince like nothing else.

 

Like I said when we first walked in that evening to the sea of lights above and the sound of possibility all around us, “Babe, you make up for every prom I never went to… Dance with me.” And he did.

***

So rumor has it that Hubby has a friend of a friend of a friend who knows Miss America’s dad. So…I might get that interview with her after all!!

And you? Do you dance? When no one is looking? Ever consider ballroom lessons? Or getting your salsa on? 🙂 Or do you prefer to couch it and vicariously light it up while watching, “So You Think You Can Dance?”