A CUT ABOVE THE REST

When I was in high school, one of the big dances of the year was the Valentine’s Party. Every popular gal HAD to have a date. During my sophomore year, I was asked by The Glass Blower (see Oct. 6, 2008 blog picture--he's on the far right; I'm in the red sweater; age 18) to be his date to the heartful affair.

Now, he wasn’t one of the hunky athletic heroes of our class; those guys were reserved for cute cheerleaders, but he was fun and had been a good friend since 4th grade, so I accepted his invitation, even though he preferred paint brushes in his hands rather than footballs.

There was just one small problem: he was about my height or shorter, and I would NOT be able to wear high heels to the dance! What a fashion catastrophe!

Mama Bore consoled me for being so petty by finding a pair of black slippers to match my cocktail-style dress. They wouldn’t slenderize my chunky calves to look sleek, like heels would, but there was no way I was going to be taller than my date! I slipped on the slippers and slouched for all the pictures, none of which I still have, fortunately.

Which brings me to the above picture. Over the weekend Glass Blower and I were back for our Homecoming, he arriving all the way from Seattle, so one of our classmates took my camera and shot a picture of us together again. I haven’t gotten even a smidgen taller since we were 15, but GB has obviously picked up four or five inches over the years. He is a world traveler with an internationally prestigious career. He’s even been seen on a PBS special! Talk about making me feel small! And the double irony of it all is that now I hate wearing high heels so much that I haven’t owned a pair since I teetered on platform shoes in 1972. Yikes!