THE LUNATIC LADY @ THE GAS STATION & THE RUNWAY MODEL

If I were gutsy enough, I’d write about the end of my afternoon and title it, ‘Crazy Lunatic Lady at the Gas Station’. I’d craft a nice story from the events of the afternoon and set the climactic ending at a Chevron gas station. I’d cast a Crazy Lunatic Lady and extras looking for nothing more than to have their gas tanks filled. The scene would open with the Crazy Lunatic Lady on her cell phone spastically having a publicly audible conversation with the person on the other end. You’d hear or read, “I don’t want anything serious or to marry them…I just want to go on a date” and then she’d thrust her arms and say, “and I’ve been having gastrointestinal issues this past week…I keep having the runs” and then she’d pace back and forth with her head down and say, “oh and I figured out what it was that was bothering me, I had a full on discussion about all of it with my psychologist…the shrink helped me figure it out” and then she’d realize how crazy it all sounded should someone be observing her and start laughing profusely…or rather insanely.

As is, I’m not going to write about the ‘Crazy Lunatic Lady at the Gas Station’ so instead I’ll write about myself as a Runway Model.

Once upon a time I was a Runway Model. It was during my sophomore year in college, the year I lived with a fashion student. Don’t get me wrong, modeling was not something I ever aspired to do, it was one of the many ‘scandalous’ situations I found myself in during college. Others include but are not limited to wearing caution tape and eating ‘special brownies’. They make my claim of being a ‘gunner’ who spent all her time in the library unbelievable…but continue to trust me when I say that I was indeed very nerdy.

Anyways, so I was a runway model...not by choice or by the call of a duty to volunteer. It was because my fashion student suitemate insisted on making these clothes that no one else she knew could fit in. And so, there was me. The first time... was bad. I took one look at the tiny hounds tooth skirt and told her that I didn't think it would fit. She begged me to try on the entire outfit. "The show's tomorrow and Annie can't fit the skirt, she nearly broke the zipper." I remember hoping I might break something as I put on the Barbie skirt, tight black halter top, bright red booster bottoms (I think that's what they're called), and black knee high boots. Unfortunately, it all fit. As I looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror, I had to bite my lip to keep from saying, "Oh my goodness, it's me...I've gone from nerd to hooker."

As if that wasn't already bad enough, she then told me I had to do 'the walk'. I shook my head, "I don't do 'the walk'" I said. She lead me around the common room in circles saying. "It's the catwalk! Just think catwalk!". I swear that during my attempt at the catwalk, I looked as though I was in the middle of an epileptic seizure. I got by with a compromise between something that looked like a minor convulsion and semi skip an managed to make it through the show. I thought I was in the clear and would never have to do anything like that again. I was wrong.

I became this cowardly model who hesitated but just could not say "no" to her suitemate's pleas. I got suckered into a photo shoot for her portfolio of which the whole time I worried that the pictures might be considered to be pornographic and desperately asked if I could put on my sweater over or a t-shirt under the DEEP v neck top. "Oh Stop", she'd say, "You may not be an actual model, but at least try to think like one." And of course who could forget the final project where I stood before a panel of judges displaying the Pepsi theme in a slinky royal blue dress and silver cape. Since the main feature was the cape, I assumed I probably would not have to show much of the dress, or lack of dress in my opinion. And it just so happened that I was running low on the essentials that morning and had to do a toss up between my bathing suit bottom and the safety grandma underwear (you know the one you keep at the bottom of your drawer and wear only on laundry day). The Grandma underwear won, but that wasn't supposed to be a problem since it was the cape that the judges would be looking at and not the dress right? Yeah, never believe a fashion student when they tell you that you won't have to take the coat off. Oh yeah and FYI, grandma underwear is not made to be worn under a dress with two very high slits.

So I was a pretty pathetic runway model if you ask me. I didn't have the walk or the posture, and I definitely didn't have the confidence as I was extremely uncomfortable. In my opinion, it was as though I was having the nightmare where I stood before a crowd in my underwear. Oh wait, that did happen...the grandma underwear. I nearly flashed all the judges with it while maneuvering my way around in that dress. Even so, it was an experience and as usual I'm now able to realize something from it.

I guess today, as I continue to figure things out, I’m reminded that regardless of a sad or even perfect modeling display, someone will always sees me as I am. That beneath the tacky fashion trends or even the put-together preppy attire, someone sees an intricate elegance and design. And in this life, even with the less than perfect posture and lack of 'the walk', I finally have confidence that God, with His almighty power, makes perfect His own work as He carries it onto completion.