My Sassy Saint wore a dress.
Let me repeat myself, because I know you're just as flabbergasted as I am: Sass wore a dress.
Not just any dress, a formal dress. A floor-length, be-glittered formal dress. Let's pause here to get our hyperventilation under control.
Better? OK, then.
Sass went to the band's awards dinner/formal dance over the weekend, and not only did she wear a dress, but she went full-on fancy. I didn't have to hold her down even once. I didn't even go to this dance, but it was the best dance ever.
We went to her best friend's house, where said best friend's mother wielded a curling iron. In the days leading up to this, Sass expressed antipathy toward having her hair curled.
"Why don't you just let her do what she thinks is best?" I asked. "She is a professional, after all."
What she thought best was an architectural configuration of curls. I was thrilled to death and unable to keep my cool. Sass doesn't do selfies, but I took a dozen pictures of her hair at multiple angles and texted them to half the family. Sass rolled her eyes, but she was obviously pleased.
She looked amazing. There isn't thanks enough for Our Lady of the Curling Iron, even if she modestly proclaimed she could only work with what the girls already had. She asked if Sass wanted her to put glitter in her hair, but Sass was reluctant.
"Do it!" her best friend encouraged.
I squeezed the poor child half to death. "I love you. Sass, you've got to do it now!"
Yes, I know, peer pressure and all that. She still looked fantastic, even if I am finding glitter in her hair days later. We tried to talk her into some body glitter, but she stood firm. It's just as well, since there's still glitter all over my car's backseat from their hair and dresses.
Sass also expressed resistance to having her makeup done.
"I don't like people touching my face," she said. "Especially my eyes."
"Just let me put some foundation on," I said. "I won't make up your eyes."
"I won't make you do anything you're uncomfortable with." Even if OLCI did make up the other girls' eyes and they looked amazing. Sass did agree to some lipstick, although it took me forever to get it on, since she wouldn't stop talking for even 30 seconds.
Another close friend's mother got the girls glue-on nails, and I Super Glued them to Sass' nails to ensure they stayed on for the duration of the dance. I also Super Glued my fingers together, but sometimes beauty hurts.
Once they were ready, it was time to take pictures. Lots and lots of pictures, which I texted to half the family. (It's Grandmama's fault - she made me promise to send her pictures.)
I was hoping to catch more of her friends at the dance and get their pictures, too, but only Fabulous (looking spiffy in a tux, and am I glad that I insisted on a rather formal dress?) lingered outside. Luckily, She Who Runs With Scissors also attended and sent me pictures.
Every good thing must end, and late that night, the Long Suffering Husband fetched our Cinderellas home.
"You won't believe this," he said.
"The seniors passed out awards, and they gave Sass 'Sweetest,'" he said.
"Our Sass? Sweetest? She's got them snowed."
But ... maybe not.
(Wallace-Minger, a resident of Weirton, is community editor of The Weirton Daily Times.)