"Perfect"

Jeans and Berks. Sneakers? Not sneakers. Heels! Leggings and a black skirt. No leggings. Blue skirt? Black skirt over jeans! Blue striped shirt or gray turtleneck and a pink over-shirt? Blue stripped shirt with a black turtleneck. No turtleneck. Short necklace? A long one. Both?!

As I looked at the knee-high pile of clothes, shoes, and accessories on my bedroom floor, I couldn’t help but feel a little distraught. I had nothing to wear and he was going to be here in half an hour!

“What are you doing in here – getting ready for a date or commencing World War III?” asked my mom sarcastically as she attempted to inch open the door, which was caught on my favorite pair of blue jeans and the toe of a green sling-back.

“I have nothing to wear and I have no makeup on and my hair’s not done and he’s going to be here any minute!” I cried hysterically. This was my first real date in high school, late as it may seem, and everything had to be perfect – I had to be perfect. My mom grabbed at the jeans and single heel that was blocking the door’s path and held them up, along with a black turtleneck and a long, blue and green necklace that had somehow landed around my doorknob.

“What about this?” she inquired, gesturing to the lump of attire in her hands.

“Oh my God, Mom – that’s perfect! How do you do that?” I exploded.

She gave me a knowing look, placed the outfit on my already-cluttered desk and replied simply, “You forget – you’re the fruit of my loins. Now get dressed and start your hair and makeup,” before walking back down the hallway to her room.

God, she’s good, I thought as I shoved open my door and walked all of the three feet it took to get to my recently painted purple and white bathroom. I looked in the mirror and saw a girl who was not nearly ready for an evening out with the guy she had liked for over a year, even a traditional dinner-and-a-movie date.

Ugh, what am I going to do with myself? I wondered as I pulled out a tissue from the box (also purple), positioned delicately on the back of my toilet, and folded it just so. I grabbed a Q-tip from the top drawer of the vanity, along with my liquid and powder foundations, a makeup sponge, and a small brush, and took a long, hard, and close look at myself. I still have to do my makeup and just look at my hair! I’m not going to have time to straighten it before he gets here and he loves my hair straight. I dipped the Q-tip into the liquid foundation, dabbed it all around my face, smudged it with the sponge and covered it with a layer of powder. This is a disaster, I mused, sighing half-heartedly.

I lightly tossed my foundation supplies back into the drawer and grabbed for my eye makeup: black liner, a palate of twelve different shades of eye shadow – ranging from orange to gray – and…

“Mom, where the hell is my mascara?”

“I don’t know, Honey! Just come in here and use mine if you can’t find it.”

“I don’t have time! Can you bring it down here?” I yelled as I rushed to apply three streaks of liner to each eye – on the inside and outside of my bottom lid and along the outside of the top – six lines in all. My mom came in to drop off the mascara and I grabbed her before she could turn around. “What color eye shadow should I wear? Nothing matches my outfit!”

“What about the green or the blue? You have two shades of each,” she suggested, motioning to the tray of colors lying open on the counter.

“Green and blue – that’s perfect! Thanks, Mom!”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she replied, again smiling knowingly and walking back to her bedroom. I looked at my watch: quarter of seven. That doesn’t leave much time. I messily applied both blue and green shadow to my eyes – blue on my top lid and green on the bottom – before swiping on a little more mascara than was actually necessary.

I threw the eye makeup back into my drawer and scooped up my mosaic blush compact and the big brush that went along with it, before reaching over and flipping the switch to my hair straightener, already set to a whopping three hundred twenty-five degrees. I hastily brushed on enough blush to balance out the random red tones in my skin and added another layer of tan powder on the rest of my face, just for good measure.

After replacing all of my makeup products and cleaning off my counter top, I held my hand over my straightener. Thank God this thing heats up fast, I sighed with relief and brushed out the tangles in my hair out before dividing it into the necessary sections.

Eight minutes later, I ran into my room attempting to wiggle into my clothes, strap on my shoes, slip on jewelry, and apply lip-gloss all at once. I stopped to stare into the full length mirror inside my armoire – I looked perfect. And he’ll be here any minute! My excitement and anticipation was building, but so were my nerves. What if he doesn’t like my outfit? My makeup? My hair? What if we don’t have anything to talk about? What if this whole night just turns out to be a waste of time? I worried my way to the bathroom and back again to my room, checking and double checking to see if I had forgotten anything.

Finally, after four minutes that felt like twelve hours, the doorbell rang and I heard the collapse of my dad’s recliner as he got up to answer it.

“He’s here,” my dad hollered to me as he cracked open the large blue door and kicked at the glass insulation, “Come on in,” he stated cordially to the boy outside. I yanked my purse off my purple hydraulic-swivel desk chair and saw my mom emerging from her room to greet my guest as I carefully descended the stairs.

I smiled and said hello as my three-inch heels clacked onto the hardwood paneling of our first floor. I grabbed my winter jacket and hugged my parents goodbye, assuring them that I’d call as soon as we got to the movie theater and again when we were on our way home. I waved goodbye as the heavy door clicked shut and I was at last alone with the boy of my dreams.

“You look beautiful,” he said, softly kissing me on the cheek. And that’s when I knew that the past half an hour had not been a waste of time; the night was going to be perfect.