“See you in the morning at 9. Come with clean hair and a clean face.” — This was the text I read right before I went to sleep last night. It was sent by a sweet friend of mine who works at Malouf’s. She was kindly reminding all of the “models” when to show up for the Holiday Happening Fashion Show the following morning. Upon reading that sweet, simple little text, all I could think about was me. How my face was breaking out, how bloated I felt, how ghostly white I looked, and so on and so forth. I spent half the night tossing and turning, waking up every two hours. I was in model-panic mode. The harder I tried to sleep, the less my mind wanted to shut off.

After one round of the snooze button this morning, I peeled myself out of bed, made some coffee, brushed my teeth, washed my face, brushed my hair, threw on some comfy clothes, and headed to the Civic Center. I had my clean hair and clean face; and I was ready to get it the heck over with. I walked in the spacious, makeshift dressing room fully prepared to be miserable. Great attitude, right? Yea, I know. You would think a girl who has performed for crowds her whole life would be more emotionally equipped for these kind of functions. But no, I still come down with a case of the socially-awkward bug; accompanied by the all-about-me virus.

By 9:30 all of the models had finally arrived, and hair and makeup was in full swing. I only knew one other model, and was certain she’d be my only conversation all morning. “Those other girls don’t want to talk to me; they’re all so gorgeous, and clearly they’re all friends.” — That’s the type of bs that runs through my mind from time to time. It’s really a shame, but that all-about-me virus gets me every time.

One hour, a head full of loose curls, and a layer of makeup later, those “models” became my friends. It’s amazing the type of female bonding that occurs during a primp session. (Not familiar with the word primp? See here.) While listening to their stories about struggling through tennis lessons and juggling their kids’ lives with their own, my “me” problems suddenly felt insignificant.

It was 11:15, and it was finally time to line up for the show. We made our way down the stairs, and into the huge banquet hall where the brunch and fashion show were being held. Each table was intricately set with a full set of cutlery and a beautiful bouquet of flowers in the middle. The banquet hall was draped in Christmas decorations from floor to ceiling; and the festive Christmas trees, for the auction, adorned each corner. The women attending the brunch were seated, eating their meal, and politely watching the entertainment on stage. I couldn’t help but notice the huge crowd. They would all be watching me.

At 11:30 the fashion show began. Each model made their way on the stage, hit a few poses, smiled, and made their way back upstairs to change into a second outfit. My turn came and went; and before I knew it, the show was a wrap.

After changing out of my glamorous Herve Leger dress and handing back the borrowed diamond necklace, reality set in and my all-about-me virus was quickly cured. The women who spent hours and hours decorating that banquet hall had no idea who I was. That was clearly not done for me. The sweet older women, who pulled me aside, to feel the fabric of my dress did not come to that brunch and fashion show to meet me. They came for the gossip, the food, and the clothes. The hard-working Malouf’s girls certainly did not volunteer their time just for me. They had plenty of other people to worry about. 

So while I was busy worrying about me, these dedicated women were putting blood, sweat and tears into a strong holiday tradition. Today was not all about me; and I’m thankful it wasn’t. I met some fabulous women, and I was able to be a part of The Junior League of Lubbock’s Holiday Happening Ladies’ Day Brunch. Hats off to you, JLL. You did a fantastic job!

Leave a Reply