As far back as I can remember there was the dream of my sweet sixteen party. My mom, not being one for too much unnecessary fuss must have temporarily lost her mind when the time actually came for the event as even I am now a bit embarrassed by the party (though not enough that I don't still beam at the memory). We rented out a room at the local country club, chose a menu from the caterer, picked out personalized napkins and invitations, and put together a, goodness, fifty person guest list (Mom, can you confirm that?). We asked for semi-formal attire and my friends and I swooned at the chance to buy long, fancy dresses and beg our high school boyfriends to wear ties. There was music, which I just now remembered might have been from a DJ, and the cake was tiered and sprinkled with edible glitter. I very clearly remember dancing with my then boyfriend, my head nestled in his cologne drenched neck, swaying back and forth to Celine Dion and "My Heart Will Go On." Oh, 1998, I miss you.
It was surely over the top, and my almost thirty year old brain shudders at the expense, but the part of me that's less rational loves the memories of feeling like a princess, yes, I said that, of dashing around with friends in fun dresses and heels we weren't equipped to handle. I remember feeling sad the next day that I didn't eat any of the food or taste the cake's edible glitter, but I love that it means I had too much fun to notice. I need more of that in my life now.