I would never like to call myself a "girly girl", because I'd probably be an insult to the girls that are. I like stomping around in Doc Martens, head-bobbing to some classic rock until it gets tangled in the fan and having moments of angst where I just sit in the corner and glare at inanimate objects. On that premise, I hardly think I qualify.
That said, what girl doesn't like going to a ball?
Of course, this isn't just a glitzy do. It's likely to be the last mass celebration of my year before we go our separate ways for study leave and exams. In short, it's goodbye with glitter and wine. Still, the bonuses are a glamorous cocktail party, a three course meal and some top notch getting-down in swathes of sequins and organza. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't want all of those things. This happens every year at my school, and for a long time throughout the years, "ball" was the one thing that spurred me onto Sixth form. It was the romantic idea of it, just the word was enough, and now that it's finally come around, it's true to say that I don't have all the things I pictured. For one, I don't have a date, since the last boyfriend conked out, so for my final event, I'm riding solo. Not to say that my evening will be ruined of course, since I will have friends, good music...and wine. Still, I'm sad that I didn't get to have the couple picture or the name plates side by side at the table, or even the moment to fawn over his bow tie (bow ties are cool, okay?)
That said, I have a beautiful dress, a plan to hang with some of my best friends (and their boyfriends, but nobody's making me the fifth wheel!) and I'm safe in the knowledge that the food will be really good. Whether or not the evening ends in me piggy-backing crippled friends into taxis or rolling down to a club that I feel I have no business being in, I just know that it's going to be something special.