This path isn’t for the faint-hearted. The people who usually embark on this journey do it because of a) an undying passion for fashion b) a keen interest in styles and trends c) a desire to be the next McQueen d) all of the above. I’m kind of an oddball, because I’m just extremely curious about how clothes are made.
I learn how to draft, drape, and sew in school. It’s a wonderful feeling to have your ideas grow from something intangible, into two-dimensional sketches and paper patterns, and then finally come to life as three-dimensional garments. (Haha, whatever.)
I work very hard. I’m early for my classes, I don’t dare miss a lesson, I complete my assignments diligently and on time, I pay attention to what my lecturers say, and I think my work is actually not too bad. I even think my sewing teacher might like me. I fall off the face of the earth to sew beads onto my bustier and hand stitch the ruches onto my evening gown. I am permanently cross-eyed and almost blind from working dead into the night, every night.
I find it super hard to make friends, though. The last time I was really alone in a new place without a single friend, I was four years old. Since kindergarten, I’ve had at least a couple of friends to take me through primary, secondary, and junior college. It occurs to me that this is the first time I’m breaking away from the pack and marching to the beat of my own drum. I’m an airhead with no sense of rhythm, so this is kind of alarming.
There are serious consequences to dating someone you only have lukewarm feelings for. (Suggested Reading List: The Law of Fuck Yes or No.) They appear small at first, but then blow up in your face in no time. You will feel alone as you make pancakes with them. You will hate them when they do something sweet like pick an eyelash off your face, and then you will hate yourself for hating something that was so clearly done out of love and affection.
Sometimes, two people come together, and it is just Wrong. Not everyone who wants to stick their tongue down your throat is the peanut butter to your jelly, or the yin to your yang. It’s not a big deal. Kill the relationship with kindness and move on. If you don’t, you will feel more insane with each passing day.
Both my brothers get married this year. Jarrold in October, Stu in December. There is now overcrowding in our home, but it is a warm and fuzzy kind of stepping on each other’s toes and sharing of handbags and nail polish.
My friend mentions that his friend is looking for a date to take to his officer’s social night event. I volunteer myself. It’s at the fancy St. Regis hotel. I take a cab down, bad idea. I get motion sickness from the ride. I look out for a guy in a navy suit, we find each other and exchange A/S/L. He’s one of the main organizers, so he’s got duties. As his date, I also have a duty – to mend the reception table and receive guests. I’m useful for the first 10 minutes, then I have to rest my head on the table – the reception table.
The dinner begins. Our first course is a delicious, rich and creamy mushroom soup. I take five sips and then excuse myself from the table. The ladies’ is about 600m away. I don’t think I can make it. The bar is 150m away, so I run to the bar. I don’t beat about the bush with the bartender. I lean over the counter and say “I’m about to puke. Do you have a plastic bag?” His pupils dilate. He scrambles around the bar, and returns holding a plastic bag open in front of my face. “But it has holes!” But it’s too late! And soon there is my vomit dripping out of the plastic bag onto his counter. I don’t dare look up to see his face. I reach for some napkins, mumble an “I’m sorry” and make a dash for the ladies’.
I believe in making impactful first impressions.
I finally end my relationship. After six months of trying to end it, but succumbing to his emotional blackmail each time, it’s the best breakup ever. It’s unusual; I don’t remember break ups ever feeling this good. What’s even more unusual is that the tipping point has nothing to do with the relationship or either of us. But everything to do with the fight I have with my father that makes me feel as though there is nothing more in this world that I can possibly lose. (I’m very dramatic. All the time.)
Backstory: My dad is full of compassion, wisdom, and energy. (I think he stores all of these in his biceps.) He’s a generous and kind man who enjoys mentoring the young and disillusioned. He’s more than willing to help anyone and everyone, especially now that 3 of his 4 children have already got their shit together, and his youngest child (AKA me) would rather learn the hard way, by herself, on her own terms, usually through trial and much grave error such as throwing a ton of shit at the wall and then hanging around to see what sticks. As a result, he has taken a handful of Young Adults At Risk (YAAR) under his wings.
Bla bla bla, this is getting draggy. Basically, after a night of drinking at the bar with my dad, his YAAR, and my boyfriend (this is BEFORE the fight, so we are still together), my dad insists on sending his YAAR home in a cab while my boyfriend sends me home in another cab. I go ballistic. (As mentioned, I’m very dramatic.)
My thoughts are something like “Why can’t the YAAR get into a cab and go home himself? You’re a bit high yourself. And we live in the same house. And you’re my father. I think it makes more sense if we went home together. No, I do not want my boyfriend to send me home. I want my father to send me home!” I should also probably mention that the YAAR is wearing a distasteful brocade suit and I highly suspect that he is gay. In the end, I break up with my boyfriend and cease communication with my father for three weeks.
