The Liberty Ball

I went to the Liberty Ball to be efficient, productive, and bored. It didn’t work—it never does . . . I was going to wear an old dress. The dress was well-sewn and durable, quite proper for such an occasion. Then my mother bought me a beautiful dream of a dress that completely broke the matter-of-fact image.


But all was not lost yet. I was serving food at the ball and intended to spend the time cutting cheese slices, mixing punch, and making sure the other girls danced. This time Paul thwarted me. He asked me to go to the ball with him and the fun prospects of this dance began to look much too bright for comfort’s sake.

Still, I gave it my best effort. Immediately upon arriving, I cut my finger on a Sparkling Cider bottle and spilled a cup full of it. That, I’m afraid though, was the dying hiccup of a lost cause.
I got to dance WAY too much. It was pathetic; I was supposed to be washing cups not enjoying myself. And then the servers decided to be much too entertaining, and lively, and wonderful and totally SPOIL my prospects of a dreary evening.

By cleaning up time when the people had begun to leave I had given up all hope. I had a glorious time with Paul pretending I knew how to dance to break it down music and then ended up staying out until 2 o’clock in the morning with some friends at IHOPs.

Oh well, I guess I can let my plans be destroyed every once and a while.

Thank you guys for making it such an enjoyable time. :)