Homecoming!

As I write this, my feet are burrowed under several layers of blankets, gradually thawing. I was at the school tonight helping decorate for Homecoming, and at one point I was asked to go out in the gym and test several strands of decorative lights. There were balloons scattered over the gym floor for safekeeping, as the hallway they would eventually hang in was teeming with stu- dents.

One of the girls in my class had brought her little brother, a cute little boy who was fond of announc- ing "Kickoff time!" before booting the nearest balloon into the air. He was in the darkened gym with me, but every now and then his sister would call him out and ask him to do an odd job. As I brushed balloons off my lap and attempted to untangle two strands of bulbs, he came back into the room and announced that "Sissy says you should take your shoes off." (She had been talking only to him, I later found out, but he had figured the re- quest applied to both of us.) I complied, finding a bare spot on the floor and placing my sandals there.

Long story short, the gym door somehow got locked and I was barefoot for the remainder of the evening, including an hour of decorating with an exterior door wide open, an hour of dance practice in the drafty auditorium, and the trek across the parking lot to my mom's (thankfully warm) car. I hope that whoever finds my sandals doesn't do anything nasty to them.

Waitsburg's Homecom- ing week, for the uninitiated, consists of intense competition between the classes. There are daily costume contests, wacky class competi- tions (like tortilla flipping and boys-only volleyball), a dance-number contest (initially, I was signed up to be a dancer in the junior number, but after the first rehearsal it became painfully apparent that the group was better off with me cheering them on from a distance), and the decorating competition, during which each class is assigned a different part of the school to decorate. On Friday, the overall winner is announced (usually the seniors, who also happen to plan all the events and write the judging criteria), and hard feelings between classes are usually settled quickly enough that we can all cheer together during the football game on Friday night. And on Saturday, there's the dance.

As I type this, my dress for the aforementioned dance is hanging on the door of a nearby closet. It's pink, a little brighter than what you'd call a magenta, about the color of your average artificial peony bud.

It's beautiful. I'm no good at describing clothing, so I won't attempt to feed you a wordy description of it. Suf- fice it to say that every time I look at it, it gets a little bit prettier.

I found it in Spokane on the sale rack at a little boutique called A Finer Moment. It was everything I was looking for - longer, with a more fitted skirt and straps. (I can't wear strapless dresses, I just can't.) I tried on several different dresses, but this pink one was the only one that fit. And - wow - it was gorgeous!

At the checkout counter, the owner told us that it had been discounted because nobody could fit in it. But it was just right for my tricky- to-fit frame. Plus, with the discount, it was just inside my price range. Sheesh, how lucky can you get?

It's going to be an awe- some Homecoming - I can feel it in my bones.

Or maybe just my toes.