Hello, Monday. Back to the daily grind.
I suppose I thought that just not thinking about school would make it go away. In that spirit, I completely forgot to read, do, or submit the homework for my online class- due every Monday. I also have a midterm due this week in that class, for which I have not yet read the title of my textbook. I've got some maaajor catching up to do this week.
I did enjoy my weekend with Travis (as if that is some sort of consolation).We ate out with his family Friday night and I enjoyed one of the best and messiest burgers ever at Georgia Blue. And the braces made it that much better. Then Saturday we spent our day indoors, as February finally decided to show up. But Saturday night brought back the get-out-of-the-house hankering and we went to an engagement party.
Now, as a disclaimer, I am from a town that is not accustomed to such gatherings. Until October, I'd never been to one and figured they were only on the itineraries of New York Plaza type weddings. Where I am from is also not a town of "money". And I put that in quotations because while yes, people from Ripley do indeed have money, it is (typically) not a place where it is flaunted or spent in such a way that draws (too much) attention. I said all that to say: sometimes you just know when you don't belong.
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Indication number one: As we entered the home (that I'm sure could've been sold for the price of a large African village), a man offered to take my coat. My dress was a tad summery under my leather jacket, so I opted to keep it on. Of course, about twenty minutes later I started sweating and was the only one carrying around my own jacket all night.
Indication number two: I stood there in my $40 Charming Charlie boots and contemplated my skewed definition of the invitation's specification of "casual". I looked around the room at the attendees, who looked as if they might stop by The Four Seasons later for drinks, instead of the theater in Starkville (me).
Indication number three: I posted myself by a huge fancy armoir to keep myself out of the traffic flow. A few minutes later a lady excused herself to get into the armoir to pull out a bottle of steak sauce. It was a refrigerator. Of course.
Indication number four: I felt weird being there, like I was doing something bad. I'd never seen an adult with an alcoholic beverage until college, and here I was, eyeballs deep in fifty-somethings on their third glass of wine. I don't know if I would ever get used to that.
If by some unlikely phenomenon I ever come into some money, I might have to give it all away. I sure don't know how to spend it or behave as if I have it. In my little world, $75 buys you a dress AND shoes. Not half of a cocktail ring. (what is that?)
So there they are ladies and gentlemen- my true colors. I may not have the 64-pack with almond and blush, but I think I can draw just as good of a picture with brown and pink.
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