The Reading, Part I

The reading was last weekend. We were offered seats at the performance of Speed the Plow that preceded the reading.

This was the plan. I was going to wear a crown. (Yes, I have one, and not a mass-manufactured one either, thank you very much.) R was going to go to the trophy store and score the tallest trophy he could find. I made it clear that nothing shorter than four feet would be acceptable, it must sport blue marbelized pillars and, if at all possible, it would have a bowler in mid-stride on top. I would settle for a boxer or a tennis player but no mainstream athletes. This was a special night and I was going to have a special trophy.

While he was hitting the trophy emporium, I would be at the Jessica McClintock outlet I’ve been dying to visit ever since we moved to the neighborhood and I would find a lovely gown for the event. I was really hoping to find something in a shiny peach like the dress I wore to homecoming in high school. It was too much to expect that it would come with a bolero jacket in a matching peach brocade like the original. Still, if it had had short puff sleeves and a very wide sash I would have been satisfied. I’d have shoes dyed to match and would pick out a tasteful wrist corsage of tinted carnations and baby’s breath.

We considered renting a red carpet.

I won’t pretend there weren’t challenges in the plan. Where would the trophy be stored during the performance? How would we carry both the trophy and a rolled-up carpet, especially with me in heels? Would it seem ostentatious to wear my crown to the performance as well as the reading or should I just put it on before the reading? We felt equal to it all though. You have to be prepared to step up when duty calls. Like Dolly Parton says, you can’t disappoint your public. They love you for your work but they also love you for your eyeshadow.

I don’t know what happened, but the day got away from us and none of that happened.