When my brother, Harold and I were little, we shared the same bedroom. One night, with all the innocence of a 2-year-old, I said to him “I’ll show you my bottom if you show me yours." Harold, who was three years older than me, got mad and told me to lie down and go to sleep! He must have told my parents what I said because shortly after that my father started working on the attic to turn it into another bedroom.
But the stairs to the attic were in my bedroom so my brother had to go through my room to get to his room. Of course, there were very strict rules: “Always knock first and wait for an answer before opening the door.”
The arrangement worked pretty well, but it seemed like there was always a parade of boys going through my bedroom. I could care less about the boys from our neighborhood, but when Harold started college, he was meeting new friends and bringing them home. By then I was 16 and I began to like having all these cute college guys walking through my room. I started making sure that I was always dressed in a pretty skirt and blouse and would sometimes even make his friends wait outside my door while I brushed my hair and put on makeup.
One day Harold knocked on my door with a new friend, Paul. Paul was tall and cute, and I gave him my very best smile. But he just stared at me and barely even said hi. When they knocked on the door again to leave, Paul stood for a moment, looking at me with a silent stare, and I thought to myself “the heck with Harold’s college friends. They’re just a bunch of snobs!”
That night Harold came home and announced that Paul wanted to take me to a dance … the first college dance of the year … at the Biltmore Hotel in New York City!
I was just sophomore in high school, had never even been on a real “date” and now I was going to a college dance at a fancy hotel in New York!
My mother took me to Altman’s, the best department store in White Plains, to pick out a dress. I chose a short, brown dress with a very modest square neckline. Looking back, I think the dress was more appropriate for a job interview at a stodgy law firm, than for a dance at the Biltmore Hotel. Why I decided on that dress I can’t possibly imagine … but that’s what I bought and that’s what I would wear to the dance on my first ever date.
The dance was a week away. Time seemed to drag by, and my excitement and anticipation grew. When the big night finally came it seemed to take me forever to get my hair and makeup right, then I quickly put on my dress. I didn’t want to keep Paul waiting. When he arrived at our door he smiled, handed me flowers and said “These are for you, Judy.”
Obviously, we weren’t off to a great start.
But the evening was like a fairy tale! We walked into the ballroom of the Biltmore Hotel and the scene took my breath away – especially the beautiful ball gowns the other girls were wearing. I felt completely out of place in my modest brown dress, but when Paul asked me to dance with him, I forgot about the other girls and their fancy dresses. We danced and talked and laughed and had a wonderful evening.
Driving home, Paul and I were sitting in the back seat of my brother’s car (the fact that Harold was driving was really the only reason my dad let me go). It was a warm, early fall night, but I had worn a winter coat and Harold had the heat on so it was hot in the car. When Paul asked me if I was “chilly”, I looked at him like he was crazy. It took me a few minutes to realize that he wanted to put his arm around me to “keep me warm”.
By the time we got home I was giddy with excitement and feeling glamorous. I took off my coat and stood in front of the mirror. It was then I realized that, for this whole fantastic evening, at the beautiful Biltmore hotel, I had been wearing my dress backwards!
Such was the glamour of my very first date!
Just one of the many experiences that helped me develop a sense of humor.
PS — If you’re wondering what ever happened to Paul – we had a couple of dates (including one when I beat him at bowling :-) but one night at dinner Harold announced to my parents “I don’t think Lucy should go out with Paul anymore!” I tried to protest and say that I could decide who I should go out with, but in my parents’ mind, there was no room for discussion. I was told that if Paul asked me out, I had to say no. Paul called a few days later and I had to turn him down. I never heard from him again — but I did hear, later that year, that Paul had gotten into some kind of serious trouble. So I guess I was lucky to have a big brother watching out for me.
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