Pre-Covid Days, Circa 2018
I love fancy parties. I’ll take any excuse to put on a pair of heels and bright red lipstick. This October night, I got an invitation to a prestigious gala supporting one of my favorite charities. I packed my bag the night before. Every New Yorker knows those moments when you have to go from one event to another, quickly. And this day was packed. I needed a plan, and each activity came with its own supplies.
Feeling proud, I set out for work that Thursday morning with my backpack filled almost to explosion. Formal dress, heels, work computer, book for the commute, snacks, emergency chocolate—you name it, it was in there. Mid-morning, I started to feel off. You know that cold that creeps in when the weather changes? I ran to the drugstore on my lunch break, dosed myself with Dayquil and Flonase, and went back to work. But nothing helped, and I felt myself wilting as I trudged through the day.
After work, I rushed to tutor some preschoolers in chess. (Yep, that’s a thing.) Meanwhile, my cold got worse. My nose was stuffier, and my brain was foggier, but my excitement for the event that night kept me going. (Don’t worry, if this was happening now, I'd have grabbed a mask...though trying to match it to my dress would’ve been a whole other nightmare!)
Post-tutoring, I hopped in a cab to a friend’s apartment nearby. I lived too far away to go home and get ready (we’ve all been there). I set up my makeup bag and curling iron in her tiny bathroom while she watched an old episode of The Bachelor in the other room. Transforming into a princess (ha, with a cold) in a bathroom smaller than a broom closet was no small feat. Hair? Perfect. Makeup? Flawless. Time to put on my badass jumpsuit. Fun, sexy, and wrinkle-free.
Then, as if in slow motion, the zipper got stuck. Very, very stuck. It fit fine, but it wouldn’t budge. I tried for 20 minutes. My friend tried for 20 minutes. The clock was ticking. The event started in 30 minutes, and I needed to be in a cab in 10 to make it on time. I started to sweat. Anxiety sweat or Dayquil sweat? Who knows.
I couldn’t be late to this event—celebrities would be there. In a panic, I gathered my beauty supplies. Makeup was dripping down my face. I checked Google Maps. A department store, 10 minutes away. I ran. In heels. I bet I looked like a woman being chased by demons.
Ten minutes later, I emerged with a dress I hoped would fit. I darted into a drugstore next door for new pantyhose and cheap earrings that matched my new outfit. I ran across the street to a hotel and hastily changed in the lobby bathroom, pretending to meet a guest. Seven minutes later, I was in a cab. The driver laughed at my appearance. “Drive!” I commanded, pulling out my beauty supplies to fix my makeup.
Finally, I arrived at the red carpet. “I love your dress!” my friend exclaimed as we headed to the coat check. “You look so glamorous!” Tissues and extra Dayquil were hidden in my bra.
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