By Faith Nkamuhebwa
Being young and crazy in “crush” is one of those very exciting, crazy and yet also the most stupid days of your life.
Recently my young sister called me from school on that phone booth that lets you talk for thirty seconds. It does not leave space to exchange the “lovey dovey” stuff. She tells me to bring her a dress for her leavers’ party and there is a way she describes the kind of dress she wants in those thirty seconds that reminds me of myself almost ten years ago.
It was around that time when my body was spiraling out of control and I was pretending that I am old enough to understand what is going on. My senses were heightened and I walked around feeling like am the most beautiful girl ever. I must also admit I always felt more intellectual than the other students so I joined the debate club
We had one of those debates that allowed us boys to come to our school. It was a big deal. Plus the boy I had a crush on was coming. He was a beautiful boy, good at break dancing, modeling and everything else. Plus that beautiful girly smile that came with swag. I liked to believe that he liked me the way I liked him because why else would he ask me to be his date for this occasion if otherwise? I was so excited and told no one about it because I wanted everyone to be very surprised. I was dying to tell someone. But I kept my cool and did not tell anyone. Until two days to the occasion when I saw the other girls trying out their dresses and I realized that mine might not be revealing enough. In fact it wasn’t revealing at all.
And so I ran to my sister and told her my problem to which she was more excited than I. She told me she had a heightened sense of fashion and she could fix me up real good at which point she ripped my dress and begun pinning it together with needles and thread and safety pins. Two hours later I could have sworn I was Cinderella and my sister was my God mother because my dress stitched up and held together by filmy threads and pins looked perfect on me.
Now am not going to go into the details of the debate, nice food, excitement and even the jealous glances I received and so enjoyed but I will tell you this. My dress ripped. It fell into pieces.
Apparently I wasn’t able to keep up with his “perfect” dance moves. When he whirled me around, I accidentally stepped on the tail of my dress and I remember hearing those loosely fixed threads tear and it came crumbling down on me. I was only left in my cleavage enhancing bra “obviously too big for me” and my new French panty “obviously too lacy”.