Piles of dresses littered the floor like rainbow colored, satin shag carpet. Heels in varying degrees of ankle breaking height lay discarded and pairless among the dresses. Castaways. Containers of makeup and brushes lined the bathroom counter leaving little room for anything else. A half drunk vodka and red bull sat on the dresser, party fuel. Liquid courage. But what was there to be afraid of? Only myself. For so long, I was my own worst enemy.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
So many parties, so many pretty shoes, and so little time. Walking arm in arm, laughing as our breath hung in vaporous clouds above our heads. Girls in pretty dresses and painful shoes, our eyes heavy under the weight of the layers of beauty we had applied. New Year's Eve. Each night so rife with limitless possibilities and promises of carefree socializing. But in the end so ultimately empty. And so...sad.
And now, so many years and so much happiness later, another year is born. But this time legos and Barbie dolls litter the floor. The theme song to Spongebob plays loudly from the other room as a half drank sippy cup of milk lays discarded on the table next to a two year old who lies heavy lidded on the couch, trying her best to stay awake for the party.
I sit with my husband and older daughter on our lanai. We (the legal aged ones) sip wine and laugh as the cat tries to climb a seven foot screen to catch a gecko on the ceiling. It's eight O'clock.
"Let's have a trampoline party!" My child proposes.
"Awwwww, yeah," I say, and we run barefoot outside, the warm breeze rustling the branches of all the palm trees.
We jump and laugh for what seems like forever, sweat beginning to bead and run down our backs. Exhausted, we take a break and I watch her savor a popsicle the way only a kid can and I say, "This is a fun party, huh?"
"Yeah. The best, " she says.
And everyone falls asleep before the year ends. Happy and content, oblivious to all the other parties. For now at least.