Losing Me at a Party

This is a thought I had in December, but my thoughts came back to me today. Please, if you are a licensed therapist, please visit another blog. I don't want you analyzing me, and several people who blog need your help.

Around the holidays, hubbie and I attended three events in two days – all three were holiday parties (the new phrase to describe Christmas parties, as all definitely had a Christmas theme). Now, I am no jet-setter, and I don't really go to too many parties, but hubbie is a director of something, so he is obligated to attend. I am merely decoration.

As I was getting out of my dress after the third affair, something dawned on me. First, why the heck are some dresses hard to get out of, but that led me to think about "acting" at these parties. Not that I am phony, but I am wearing a dress that I wear maybe twice per year, I put way too much make up on, and I make it a point to be charming. And for most women, being charming involves listening.

Side note: I have been told that I am one of the most interesting people that several people have met. I sort of laugh, not because it is or is not true, but invariably, the people who make these comments are people who dominate conversations. And what do I do? I listen to these chatterboxes. I would hazard to guess that most of the people who compliment me in this way could not list two things that distinguish me from anyone else at the party. You know, most people appreciate a good pair of . . . ears. Yeah, I know, the men thought I was going to say something else, but once you look down the blouse, you want a woman who has hair to hold onto. No, I mean a woman who listens. At least at the party, that is what people appreciate.

Back to me slipping out of my dress. As I am remembering the party – mentally checking off ways I was charming and polite – it occurs to me that these people only see a very public view of me. And it is fairly one-dimensional. Now I am not talking about the curves that hubbie sees either. Well, not physically, at least. And not showing everyone your entire life is not necessarily a bad thing. For instance, I don't want to know that my boss is on hormone meds, or that my neighbor dresses up like Little Bo Peep to fulfill her boyfriend's twisted fantasies. People are so complex that I only have a few that I actually want to keep track of – hubbie, family members (not all of them) and close friends. That's all I have time for. Nothing more.

And then there are people who I want to know more about, but not everything. For whatever reason, there are several bloggers that I can keep track of what they show here. And I am not talking about Half Nekkid Thursdays, either. I am talking about what people think, how they have their eyebrows butchered, how members of their family are going through cancer, deployments, whatever.

But when I think of what I reveal at parties, most of this is trivial, polite, safe. And that's what people expect and appreciate. I am not going to tell them I hate wearing heels (women probably can assume it, and men don't care).

The symbolism, though, of taking one's hair down, having one's husband help one out of a party dress is so profound at those moments. For several hours, I was lost in pretending to be some one-dimensional ornament. Now I can be who I am, slip out of my hated heels, and be myself for someone who knows me better than anyone else. What a wonderfully comfortable feeling. A feeling felt in December and remembered in February – that's how strong and wonderful the feeling can be.