When I agreed last week to let myself be auctioned off (as a date) for this event last night, I was more than nervous. I was terrified.
Jokes were made (by me, at my own expense) that a prescription for Prozac might be needed if I earned $1.23 in the auction. I looked in the mirror and I saw Tired.
Boring.
Frumpy.
I even felt so squeamish about the need to, for lack of a better explanation, bring my A-game, that I corralled one of my best friends into making me over for it. Which she did. Which made me feel quite….garish.
There was no way she was going to make me happy, really. Any makeup detectable would have felt like too much; any hair, too styled.
The fact that I was wearing a bra and heels and lace-topped stockings meant that I was going to feel like an example of what not to do. Or like I was trying too hard – and appeared to be.
I honestly, didn’t really want to go and I was definitely not looking forward to the auction portion of the evening. And that was going to colour my interpretation of whatever she did to me.
I looked in the mirror when I was ready to go, when she’d had her way with me, and I saw a whore. Tramp. Someone who was trying to literally sell herself at an auction, instead of helping (sort of) raise funds for a worthy cause.
Three glasses of wine later, a short make out session with a fellow auctionee and a bid of $270, I felt remarkably different.
I may even have felt, dare I say it? a little hot.
I definitely felt damn drunk.
You could say that I felt like maybe my interpretation is a little more off than I’d previously been aware of.
At the least, it was nice to hear, “You’re a really good kisser” in the middle of an auction.
Because that compliment? I can so accept.
The question of course is whether this might change anything going forward, whether my wounded, non-existent self-esteem in regards to my looks might right itself so that I can see something better in the mirror than a 6 on an extremely good day.
Did I walk with more confidence while pushing my stroller down the street?
No. I did, however, walk a lot closer to the ground today than I did last night, simply because I wasn’t wearing four inch heels.
