My Style is a Nightmare

Occasionally, I have this dream. I'm on a stage, the curtains are down. I'm surrounded by other dancers, who are stretching, chatting and preparing themselves. I look down, I'm dressed like them. I'm one of them. And, I realize--

I don't know the choreography.

I can hear the audience on the other side of the curtain and I am freaking out. I'm so stressed, I can't even think about the fact that I am rocking this leotard. Dancers take their positions, music starts, and I am a deer in the headlights as the curtain rises.  If I started dancing, I'm sure I'd look like *Napoleon Dynamite.

I wake up.

Lucky for me, I never get to the part of the dream where everyone dances and I stand there like an idiot. If I had a therapist, I'm sure she would tell me this is a sign that I'm feeling unprepared for something in my life. Or that I really wish I could still rock a leotard.

I did not have this dream last night.

While I am performing tonight for the first time in over two decades, I'm not worried. I am prepared. I'm not dancing (which the audience will thank me for!). I'm reading a piece that I wrote. It's part of me. Though there is the chance that I will mess up a word, or that my voice will catch, I feel okay about the performance itself.

So, why the butterflies dive-bombing my gut?

I don't know what to wear.

I'm not kidding. I went through my entire closet yesterday (doesn't take long) and tried on pretty much everything. At one point, I ripped off a jacket and threw it on the floor (I may have stomped on it).  I finally found what I thought looked all right. I tossed the skirt in the wash, because it had a pen mark on it. (My skirts always have pen marks on them. The result of going to church with a 6 year-old who constantly climbs on your lap.) I went to bed feeling good that I'd made my choice.

Then I woke this morning with a rock in my stomach. I thought about the other women in the show--one is wearing a vintage Chanel dress (pretty sure Chanel never made anything my size), another has a polka-dot dress, add some in skinny jeans and I'm feeling exactly like my blog title- frumpy.

Deep breath.

These women are amazing, and I feel so privileged to be included in their group. They are not about their clothes, I know this. They have become my friends. They are beautiful, kind and so stinking smart! They won't care  what I wear. So, I shouldn't either.

Where are my moon boots?

*Just think of me while you watch--

(If you don't know, moon boots are the stylish footwear donned by Napoleon in most of the movie.)


  1. OH. MY. GOSH. We basically did the same thing last night. I woke up feeling nervous too. Who cares what we wear! We are so cute it wont matter! Lets just go rock the place!!!

    1. We are so cute, aren't we?
      (Thanks, June!)

  2. I love Napoleon. He rocks. So do you.

    1. He has skills. I have skills.

      (And, thanks, Melody. Knowing you think I rock totally makes my day.)

  3. Your piece is hilarious, and it's fantastic because you speak the words many women think but are afraid to say. You are beautiful because you are beautiful, but also because you speak the truth. Truth is beautiful, especially when it's funny;)! You're going to rock it tonight!!

    1. Truth is beautiful. I think our show exemplifies that.

      (And, thanks for the vote of confidence. We [funny girls] have to stick together.)

  4. You could wear a robe and fuzzy slippers and still out-dazzle the world, Jewels! CANNOT WAIT TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR EXPERIENCE!!

  5. You looked awesome and you were hilarious! So much amazingness. Can't wait for the 23rd!


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