It started over the holidays in Memphis, when my family and friends began giving me crap for skipping the "Liberty Bowl Parade," which I've since only heard described as a hillbilly disaster, so that I could go back to the hotel and paint my toenails for the Liberty Bowl Gala to which I needed to wear open-toed shoes.
The irony, of course, is that I am one of the least girly/primpy types in the world. The fact that I would ever miss anything remotely sports related for anything remotely grooming related is itself a wonder. But indeed toenail painting is just one of the many activities that must be done, because...
- Inappropriate footwear is the first essential ingredient in a female black tie ensemble. Would men walk out in the snow in open-toed shoes? No. Because that would be stupid -- kind of like me shuffling through a snowdrift in strappy sandals last Saturday night. Flat shoes are also inappropriate, so after you regain the feeling in your feet from walking through a snowdrift you can use them to stand on concrete socializing for several hours in pain, trying not to look like a 4-year-old boy who has to pee.
- You must spend all night carrying random items in a "bag" with no handles. Husband needs to take along his wallet? Sure! Just throw it in this highly practical "evening bag," which is not at all a bag but actually a fabric box that you must shove under your sweaty armpit all night or hold awkwardly in your hand -- sometimes with a mixed drink balanced on it.
- Only the men get to wear a full outfit of clothes. Men don't have to think before getting dressed for a formal event (save the approximate 45 minutes my husband says it takes him to tie a bow tie), and they don't have to be cold because they get to wear pants, socks, and even a jacket. Women are supposed to wear dresses and be cold so that men can give them their jackets. This arrangement would not work in a combat situation. I'm just saying.
- Women have to wear something different to every event, thus requiring shopping. That being said, last Saturday night I literally wore a dress I bought for $8 at a Dillards clearance sale in 1999. Take that, The Man.
But hey, you can probably fit a foot massager in your clutch if you try hard enough.
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