The Comm ball, the Comm ball, the Comm ball, we’ve been talking about it for weeks. The talk was all about vintage, short or long gowns, whether to rent or to buy, but I, like Cinderella, didn’t feel like I was going to the ball at all. Last minute my fairy godmother (my Mum) waved her magic wand (the sewing machine) and made a few minor adjustments to my old debs dress. Before I knew it I was all glammed up and ready to go.
My mood was excited…..bordering on hysterical by the time I cowered under an umbrella trying not to get soaked getting to my friends house for pre-drinks. An air of expectation diffused through the group as we drank wine and rekindled our Canadian friendships. Stories of our exploits were retold hilariously and we attempted to take photographs posing as we had done for nights out in Canada.
The theme of the ball was circus, the food delish and we enjoyed the banter as we passed around the bread rolls and refilled our glasses many times. The part of the ball I usually really enjoy the most, the dancing and the chatter, lay ahead but this year by twelve o clock I realized that the best part of the night was over. Looking at the first years excitement at being at their first ball made me think back to my own first ball days and I realized that this was going to be my last. I called my chariot (my Mum) at one o’ clock and gratefully kicked my shoes off in the car, my feet numb with pain.
No wonder Cinderella left her ball at twelve and kicked off her slippers even before she reached her carriage….they were made of glass for God’d sake….she must have been in agony.
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