The single most important day of any angels career. Life or death. Make it or break it. One night. Tonight. Just breathe. Hhhhhffffff. Whhhhheeeeew. Hhhhffffff. Whhhheeeeww. Alright, let’s do this. 

          I stumble into the back room as I lose my footing and pray I don’t fall because my arms are too full of things to catch myself. Thankfully no one really notices my nearly fatal fall and I play it off like the oh so cool cucumber that I am. A lengthy blonde angel spots me from across the chaos and smirks at my struggle, but quickly becomes more concerned with her platinum horse hair extensions failing to stay attached to her head. All at once I become attacked by the intensely loud fume of perfume coating every surface like a dense odorous blanket. I hadn’t noticed the stench before (as I was much too focused on staying on two feet), but when it emerged as an all consuming source I could hardly breathe. My nose felt as though any second pounds of blood would pour down in response to the sharp knives weld by women's fragrance. My tear ducts began to swell at the presence of aerosol suffocating every square inch of the space. The amount of hairspray being used in just this single space has the power to destroy the entire ozone layer forever. There is a greater concentration of CFC (Chlorofluorocarbon; yes, I took chemistry) in this one room than there are Oxygen and Carbon dioxide molecules combined. 

          My eyes soon clear up and allow me to see the pressuring digital timekeeper hung high upon the wall staring down at me. The time! My jaw dropped, my eyes widened with disbelief. When did it get this late? How am I so horribly behind schedule for the one day that would shadow over every other day of my entire life? Crap! My heart began to bang, crash, and smash against the walls of my chest. I lose myself in panic and rush over to my designated dressing place. My arms are like weights themselves from holding all of my belongings for what seemed like an eternity. As soon as I reach my vanity, they drop, allowing all of my things to be scattered everywhere. The disordered sound of chatter cancels out the clash of the mess that my clumsiness created and I am saved from brutal embarrassment 

           I take my seat, which was a beautiful seat. The back was decorated with bedazzled pink lettering that wrote out, “Angel Aubrey”. The words sparkled like a thousand suns and mesmerized me into a trance of soft pink glitter and diamonds. It was one of those real neat directors chairs you see in movies used for the really important people. I look in my reflection and take a deep breath and comfort myself with the knowledge that now, I am one of those important people. You’ll do great. You are beautiful. You are enough. Hhhhffffff. Whhhheeeeww.  

         My moment of peace and happiness lasts only a moment longer, and I soon return to the reality of turmoil and terror. Staff armed with steaming hair wands and rough powder brushes bombard me and begin to beat my face and burn my hair in an attempt to Barbie-fy me. Two women pull and yank and twist and twirl my hair in every which way with a technique qualified to transform me into Sofía Vergara in a Tresemmé commercial. Another two women paint my face with exotic colors and I begin to fear that by the end of this I will look less like an icon and more like a girl who should be recruited by the circus. I take a breath, calm myself, and put my trust in the artists of my face. 

         The time is ticking, my stomach is twisting, my heart is throbbing, and my anxiety is skyrocketing. Two more of the staff hurry over and help me put on my… outfit? Costume? Uh, thing? The women tighten my corset so tight I felt my rib cage shrink and my internal organs rearrange. My breaths were limited to quick short huffs and puffs because there wasn’t enough space in my abdomen to take a real one. My thousand inch heels are strapped on and criss cross all the way up my calf. I’ve been practicing walking in them for the past month, so it wasn’t nearly as shocking strutting around in them for the millionth time. The very last step in my journey to perfection, was the wings. It’s a momentous experience when an angel gets her wings, and this was my moment. The staff member held a dark garment bag, and slowly unzipped it to reveal a glorious sight of color and feathers. The sight of such beauty took my breath away (which was already limited by my cage of an outfit). The heavenly wings were carefully placed onto my back and pinned to the corset. My previous claustrophobia was replaced by an uplifting carefree joy brought to me by the brightly colored wings. Now, I was ready. I took one final glance in the mirror, took a deep breath, then started for my stage. 

          Approaching the curtain, I heard the crowd “Ooh” and “Aah” and I saw the flashing of cameras and I felt the eyes of millions about to watch me strut down the runway of my very first ever, Victoria Secret Fashion show. Life or death. Make it or break it. One moment. Right now. Just breathe. Hhhfffff. Whheeew. Hhhffff. Whheeww. Alright, let’s do this.