It doesn’t matter if you call me at almost one o’clock on a Friday afternoon with an invitation to go out that same night. Not if it is a $10,000 a table benefit at the Beverly Hilton. “Yes I’m free.” “Sure, I have cocktail attire!” And “yeah, I know what Operation Smile is and am proud to be a part of supporting such an amazing organization! It’s for the children!”
Well, maybe I had something to wear. I hadn’t taken Porn Boob out to a semi formal event.
I pulled out my favorite cocktail dress. Strapless. Wow – even if I could zip it over porn boob I had no real solution for Sad Banana side. I’d been delaying a trip to Santa Monica to Intimate Images the all things cancerous “lingerie” store for a cutlet, making due with the addition of at first, a half a strapless gel bra, then both sides of the gel bra, then both sides of the gel bra, and a sock. (Dear God, was this thing growing on it’s own between appointments?) It was working just fine – especially when I put a sweater on too… One D cup and a B minus – in a room full of world renowned plastic surgeons – who would notice? Crap. There would be more boob jobs than plates there. Though I do believe I would be the only one with one jobbed.
Nothing in my closet was going to work.
I could do this – it could be like my own personal Amazing Race task. “With 4 hours on the clock you must successfully navigate through Los Angeles rush hour traffic (it’s Los Angeles, on a Friday rush hour lasts all day), procure a dress suitable for a red carpet celebrity event, milk a camel, stay within a reasonable budget and reach your apartment with enough time to remove all unwanted hair, apply, wash off, then reapply “smokey eyes’ eyeshadow and achieve salon worthy updo hair.” Okay, there was no camel milking involved but it’s about as likely a scenario as me achieving a salon worthy updo.
I headed to “It’s a Wrap” – a fabulous “thrift store”* where TV and movie clothes go to die. I love the place, it was especially good to me last fall when I was lucky enough to be the same midget pants size as some actress from “The Starter Wife.” I knew there’d be some good stuff there from the soaps where women seem to live in a world in which there is no event inappropriate to wear sequins. “Hmm, pulling the plug on my fake twin’s lover’s father today – what to wear – what to wear… Wish I hadn’t worn the aquamarine ruched to visit my wrongly accused lover in jail.”
Eleven dresses and 45 minutes later… After a scary moment in the dressing room when porn boob had me trapped. The combination of her size and my limited mobility had me flailing about in the phone booth sized dressing room in a really cute white sequined dress like I was Teller in the middle of a Penn & Teller act. I seriously thought I was going to have to get someone to help me. Oh, the explaining I would have to do… I found a dress.
For the stellar price of $20 I ended up with a sassy emerald green satin number that I was not in love with – but it would do. A dress that I realized I pretty much hated as soon as the clerk handed me the “All Sales Final’ sales receipt. Crap – “Deal or No Deal” called – they want their dress back. I think it was actually one of the dresses from the show – I mean why else would there have been 20 of them there… Crap! I needed something sassy, something sophisticated, something I could feel comfortable chatting with Matt Damon in, say he should show up and magically not be married, not something that looked like I should be carrying a briefcase with dollar amount signs in it!
So – Nordstrom Rack, I had time. There I found the unlikely, but genius answer to my prayers – a one shouldered, asymmetrical black and white cocktail dress – tight enough to support Sad Banana with a large cream bow cascading from the shoulder over Porn Boob. I know it sounds like it would be an error to decorate my Mt. Everest in a attempt to hide it, but it worked. I would have to cheat and not wear one of the obnoxious surgical bras I’ve been trapped in since August – that I’m supposed to wear 24/7 – oh, and I have to sleep on my back or suffer a life long uniboob, and being a side sleeper, sleeping on my back feels about as natural as sleeping hanging upside down from the ceiling like a bat.
But here you go!
And on the Red Carpet.
Funny enough, Mark Burnett, reality show mogul and Roma Downey chaired the event. They’re married, who knew? They were lovely and gracious and pretty much the only ones to sign almost all of the silent auction bid sheets. They probably ended up with a dozen Picasso lithographs. So if you are a friend of theirs heads up come Christmas…
We ducked out early and ended up downstairs at the legendary Trader Vics. Classy. An older gentleman introduced himself to me at the bar saying that he had just had to say – he loved my dress.
*I say thrift store – but it’s no Goodwill. Nothing there is actually cheap. I wish.