Social occasions, fashion and high anxiety

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Do we know anybody who would wear shoes like these? And where would they wear them? Or buy them?

A week from tomorrow, I'll be attending a New York charity's annual awards luncheon as a guest of my dear friend Jennefer, a slim and beautiful and fashionable woman who works in the field of public relations and who is the chairwoman of the event.

It will be wonderful to stay with Jennefer for 2 1/2 days, and I'm looking forward to it. In fact, I was an early supporter of the charity, the Pajama Program, and thought it would be fun. But the Pajama Program went from a one-woman mission to provide pajamas to needy kids to an Oprah-supported organization with chapters opening everywhere. Still, a luncheon on a Friday in Manhattan was something I thought I could deal with.

That's before the anxiety about a high-calilber social event with the beautiful people set in and sent me on a search for appropriate attire. My hostess is being dressed by a famous designer, one of the guests of honor is a multi-millionaire, the other is Al Roker. The media will be everywhere, and somewhere I'll be caught on camera or tape. Oh, the horror of it!

I have now ordered (and returned) two dresses, one jacket and four pairs of shoes. Nothing I put on changes me into Cinderella. Nothing works. If I were to be dressed by a designer, I'm sure he or she would throw hands up in despair and wrap me up like Christo wrapped the Reichstag in Germany with miles of fabric.

My nails are too torn for a proper manicure; my hair is unruly; my moustache should be waxed; my sense of fashion is non-existent; I haven't had a botox injection; I don't wear jewelry; and I am undeniably frumpy. Usually totally unconcerned about such things, I have worked my way into a tizzy.

Yesterday I took to the dry cleaners the same silk shantung pale gray suit I have worn to almost every dress-up function during the last eight years. It fits. It's comfortable. It's plain. And I bought it at the Liz Claiborne outlet for 70% off. It's going to be pressed into service again.

And then I remembered how Dad insisted that he had a perfectly good suit to wear to the rehearsal dinner for Alison's wedding some years ago, when Mom was fretting over his old clothes not being good enough. Turns out he was right. It was upstairs in the closet and still fit, needing only one tiny moth hole repaired inside the cuff. And Mom found a picture of him wearing that same suit when John was a baby, making it about 60 years old!

Reinforced by Dad's example, Thoreau's admonition to "Beware of any enterprise requiring new clothes," and Popeye's saying, "I 'yam what I 'yam," I'm now saying, "Bring it on!"