“Umm…Hmmm…Damn, I’m running out of time. OK!  Ummm..It can sit on your thighs. I need it for school. I can type….SHIT!” I blurted.   Before I could roll another clue off of my tongue, the buzzer sounded off. I had mistakenly said the word “type” during the final round of Charades.  Now, me and my teammates were the losers.

“I’m sorry y’all. I tried,” I softly replied to my team. But honestly, I was glad the game was over.  Charades had me feeling dumb as hell and had begun to stress me out.I needed a drink and luckily I was on the losing team.  We had to take 2 shots of Ciroc.

On my way to the kitchen, I picked up my phone to check my text messages but I had an alert from Instagram. 

“@xo_zoiee:  We are pleased to announce our 2014 WEEN BOOTCAMP sponsors and sponsors recipients. Congratulations.”

“Hold up! Wait a minute, now.  Did I just read this correctly?”  I thought with a smile.   I really could not believe what I was seeing. I never win shit. “Is this real?” I was in disbelief and had to show my Mr. to confirm. It was true.  I was going to New York City to attend the 2014 WEEN BOOTCAMP and meet other celebrities.

The rest of my time at my girlfriend’s Crabs and Drinks: Memorial Day Kick Back I couldn’t think about nothing else but what I was going to wear to this event. I imagined myself in a fancy dress with a beat face. But I couldn’t think of a color.  My mind was all over the place. It was very hard for me to focus and participate in-group activities. Therefore, I had to get ready to leave.  I needed to go home and search for some dresses.

That night I went to my favorite websites, Topshop, Nordstrom, Modcloth, and more in search for a dress.  But I didn’t have any luck in finding the perfect one. I wasted so much time flapping my lips on the phone telling everybody and their momma about my sponsorship that by the time I finally got a moment to myself, my eyelids were heavy.  Before I knew it, I was knocked out.

Over the next few days at school, I spent most of my lunch break surfing the web for an outfit. One afternoon, I stumbled across a classy knee-length dress that was the ideal color for my skin tone. I watched the model several times strutting down the runway in the dress so I can get an ideal on how it will fall on my body, too. Day after day would pass by and I was still eyeing this dress but still wouldn’t buy it. I was scared that it wasn’t going to be perfect. Time wasn’t on my side, so I just ordered the dress in hopes that it would be everything I had imagined it to be.

The following two-days consisted of me rushing home from work to retrieve my package from the leasing office. When it finally arrived, I tried it on immediately. I sashayed these hips in it up and down my tiny hallway on my tippy toes.  I even worked on a few poses for some pictures too.  The dress was perfect—not too dressy, not too tight and a vibrant red. I looked classy and mature.

Despite the idea of me doing physical labor, such as running, jumping, or getting yelled at by a sergeant, I mean that’s what naturally came to mind when I thought of the term BOOTCAMP, I couldn’t wait to attend.   And if it was a self-discipline camp that included physical activities, I was going to  be leaping and hoping in this dress, chile.  I wasn’t changing. The dress was too cute to not flaunt it.   “Girllllll!  You are going to be killing the scene in this beautiful dress in a trendy venue in Manhattan.”

Or would I be…to be continued.