The Navy Ball

I should have gone with my gut. In fact, I politely declined the invitation the first couple of times when my friend Cristina invited me to come. I told her I don't like dances. Never have, never will. I assured her that I wouldn't be any fun. She kept inviting me. Her friends kept inviting me. I got phone calls. I got texts. I caved. Let this be a lesson to you all about the dangers of peer pressure.

But in my defense, I did not relent without doing my homework. I consulted a trusted source who had attended such functions in the past. I asked her if it would be like prom, only the drinking would be legal. She said she had only attended Marine Balls, but that they were great. Lots of military tradition, lots of distinguished guests, lots of interesting people to meet, lots of fun. I started dreaming dreams. Jane Austen-esque dreams. Dreams of grand toasts and ballroom dancing. Dreams of Navy men in crisp white dress uniforms and women in beautiful floor length gowns. Dreams of MY new floor length gown. My serious reservations forgotten, I got to work.

I found a dress I liked, made a few alterations to it, and took the picture of what I wanted to the tailor, along with 4 meters of a lovely green satin. It would be ready in a week, just in time for the ball.

I ran into my first problem when I went to pick up my dress from the tailor. It wasn't ready. That was not what I wanted to hear after I had been stuck in traffic for 45 minutes to get there, and had walked a good distance into the souk in shoes that were rubbing huge blisters on my feet. Their explanation: they had called me friend to tell her that her pants weren't ready. From that message, my friend was supposed to extrapolate that my dress wasn't ready and call me to relay the message. Excellent communication skills at work. They promised it would be ready the next day.

So I went back. For the third time. I looked at my dress, and it looked kind of big, but I figured that they had spent so much time measuring me that it was probably just me wishing I was skinnier. Why didn't I try it on? The tailor operates out of a fabric store, and there was no place to change. I went back to work, noticed that they had not done a good job on the sleeve or hem stitching, but decided that I could get over it. I tried it on. It fell off. Yes, definitely too big.

Back to the souk. They said they would fix it. They said it would be ready in two days. I informed them that they had one day, otherwise I would be going naked to the ball. They told me they would have it to me the next day, but I had to come after hours. I thought going to the souk after hours was a bit dodgy (as my Brit friends would say) so I brought Cristina. This makes 5 times going to the souk. The dress no longer falls off, but it certaininly does not look like a custome fitting gown. I've bought things off the rack that fit better. Tailoring is definitely overrated. I wish I would have figured that out before I bought all that fabric... But I digress.

I go to the salon. They put my hair in pin curlers so that it has body when I take them out. While the stylist is working on my hair, I get an hour long pedicure for $4.

I get ready. I go to the hotel where the event is to be held. I wait for 2 hours because my friend is late. I am HIGHLY annoyed. I am hungry. My dress is shifting and I keep flashing people.

We go to the ball. Instead of white uniforms I see plaid suits. Instead of flowing ballgowns I see dresses that look like their owners are going to work the street corner after the event is over. I see ugly tattoos. Everywhere. Uglier than the tattoos I saw at the Country Music Festival in Nashville, and that's saying something. Instead of ballroom dancing, I see the limbo and the electric slide and other such travesties. Instead of interesting people I am seated next to a man called Rabbit. I think he might be mute. Rabbit obviously finds me as enthralling as I find him, and he leaves. A new man comes. He tries to look down my dress.

My Navy Ball dreams are shattered. I am tired. I am cranky. I console myself with 2 helpings of Thai chicken salad. And some mashed potatoes and gravy.

Navy Ball Ticket: $45
Material for my dress: $8
Dressmaker: $23 (after I told him I expected a 10% discount when the dress was not ready on time)
Kenneth Cole Clutch: $19
Hair: $8
Insisting that I take my own car so that I wasn't stuck when I realized that the Navy uses the term "ball" loosely: Priceless.

The evening made my senior prom look like a good time. I spent about $103 to go to the event, and I estimate that I derived about $7.55 of pleasure from it (the value of the quantity of Thai chicken salad I ate). Here's hoping that I get more than a 7% return on future activities...

These are my friends Cristina and Kristy. I get their names mixed up all the time, because about half of my friends have some variation of the name (Kristen, Kristin, Christina...you get the idea). They each paid upwards of $130 for their dresses (they don't spend as much time scouring the souk as I do) so my inexpensive dress is something to be grateful for.