I sat at the makeup table currently being terrorized by Christy who was pounding make up on my face skillfully.
“You’re going to look beautiful if you stop moving!” She exclaimed, nearly ripping my hair out with the flat iron. She was straightening my hair and then curling the freshly dyed tips. I sat there wincing as she yanked and pulled on my hair.
When the pulling stopped, I relaxed slightly only to be frightened by the hissing of the curling iron being whizzed to life.
“Relax. It won’t hurt at all.” She says as she rips through my hair like Hurricane Katrina. She was already ready and primped for the dance with her peach dress with the black leather belt and heels that she walked quickly yet smoothly in, better than I ever will walk.
“Done!” She called, turning me to face the
