There was a dinner party and I wanted to be there oso bad!  I was ready, makeup, dress and all. But of course, life isnt a fair game.

There was a dinner party that my grandmother was throwing at a fancy hotel.  Fountains were running, sculptures were polished and handsome waiters were in suits.  There was going to be good food, family was going to be there, but this wasn’t going to be just a good time.  There were going to be lawyers and judges!  This was a big deal and I was fully intending on making an appearance.  But for now, I was in the kitchen, mixing an orange mixture with a smell that could knock a buzzard off a gut wagon.  People were running everywhere, getting things ready, when a worker bumped into me.  Now two things you should know is that I am known to be accident prone, not just little “oops”es, no, we’re talking terrible incidents, coincidences, whichever you prefer.  The second think you should know: I was wearing a blue gown.  This orange mixture was then spilt down my dress and if you know colors, you know that orange and blue don’t mix well.  My dress, once a vibrant cornflower blue, was now stained the most disturbing brown I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
“OMA!!!” I screamed for my grandmother in desperation, tears forming in my eyes.  I could see my time to shine slipping through my fingers along with the orange  She came running and immediately ushered me into the bathroom.
“Verdammt!  Oi!” She lightly cursed (half of my family is from germany, verdammt means damn).  I went into a stall and slipped my dress off, handing it to her.
“Oh gott, stay here, I’ll be back with it good as new,” she said, She then left me there in the girls’ bathroom, in the stall, merely in my undergarments.
Time passed.  I was on the third floor of the building and I knew she would have a little ways to walk.  Time was ticking and i was getting cold.
Shouldn’t she be here by now?  I wondered to myself.  I convinced myself that she was stopped by a caterer of maybe a dinner guest showed up early.  However, my time by my lonesome grew longer and longer.
Maybe she forgot about me,  I guessed. I had just accepted the fact that I would have to live in the bathroom forever, when the door opened.
“Celina?” my grandmother called for me.
“Yeah oma, I’m in here!” I waved under the stall.  She handed me my dress back and I slipped it on, noticing the brown stain that was still there.  I sighed.
“What happened?” I wondered out loud.
“Oh darling i'm so sorry! I was going to get it cleaned but then the party was supposed to start and I need to be a good host.”
“... so you left me in the bathroom?”
“Ja.”
“For five hours?”
“Don’t be so dramatic, it was more like four… or four and a half.”
So there it is, the tragedy.  I wouldn't say this situation has scarred me, but I did happen to get over it… kind of.  I guess I’m not first priority.