Quick Change - Slice of Life

A year ago my daughter cared very little about combing her hair or how she looked when we went to see a show.  The idea of dressing nicely didn’t really cross her mind.  She was fine with whatever she happened to be wearing at the time to the point of complaining if she was required to bath before a performance. 

Oh how things have changed!

Last night we raced from summer camp to a show.  We walked a few miles through the heat and humidity of a steamy summer day.  On our way to the theater, we stopped and grabbed a bite to eat, slowing down for a few minutes and taking note of our appearance. 

While the Diva looked cute, as usual, in jean shorts and a flowery camisole top, I needed some help.  Hot and sweaty, my tight, wet tank top, shorts, and doubled pony tail definitely didn’t leave me in a “night at the theater” kind of mood.

We ate and arrived at the theater with a few minutes to spare. 

“Do you want to change in the theater itself?”  I asked.  We might not be wearing theater clothes, but we had them safely tucked in my bag. 

“In the theater,”  she declared, and we stood in line waiting for our tickets to be scanned. 

“I feel really weird,”  she said from the corner of her mouth.  I looked at all the finely dressed men and women congregating and mingling. 

“We’re fine,”  I reassured her as I reflected her sentiments completely.  It is not that I was uncomfortable.  I could have, without hesitation, taken my seat in the theater and thought little about the clothes I was wearing.  It is just that, if I have a choice, I prefer to dress nicely for the show.  It is a special event, but more than that.  I feel that dressing nicely is a show of respect to those on stage and behind the scenes.  They have worked very hard, looking nice is a way of showing I appreciate their efforts. 

Into the bathroom we scurried. 

Into our dresses. 

We met in front of the mirror.  She gazed at her image, examining her hair. 

My hair came down in waves before the mirror while hers went back allowing her face to be high lighted by light curls. 

Transformations complete, we emerged from the theater holding hands.  “I feel better now,”  came the voice beside me. 

I smiled at the usher as we walked by on our way to the hall.  I wonder what the ushers think when they see hot woman with child run into the bathroom only to have two different people emerge minutes later?