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I have successfully met the requirements of a second color theme gala. I feel like a trophy is in order. At the very least, a ta-da.

It took me two months from the time I got word that my husband and I would be attending an organization's annual gala, and I Googled pictures from past years and saw that virtually every single woman was wearing red.

I started a search for a red dress, since I'm not one to pooh-pooh a theme. I know my role at these things. I don't need to dress so that I look good. I need to dress so that I don't mess up the entire room looking good.

Easier said than done. I was willing to wear an unflattering dress to play along with the red theme, but there's a limit. As if buying a floor-length formal gown wasn't hard enough. We're talking about an item of clothing that went out of fashion 100 years ago with everyone except for the Monopoly Man's wife. Telling a woman in 2015 that she has to wear a formal gown is ballsy. Telling her that in addition to it fitting her, being a non-hazardous length and being age appropriate, it has to be a specific color is downright aggressive.

That's just one too many boxes to check. It reminds me of the clothes buying spree I went on in 1994, where I decided to buy only clothes made in America. I concluded that I could either be a patriot who supports my country's textile manufacturing industry, or I could not look like I was not an escapee from a mental hospital, who stole other people's clothes.

It turns out that five is the maximum number of sections in the Venn diagram in clothes buying: You can find something that 1. fits 2. is affordable 3. is seasonal 4. doesn't make you look like a hooker, and 5. goes with the shoes you already own. Adding a sixth - made in the USA - leaves you with one scratchy peach sweater and a pair of baggy capris with "cool" embroidered on the back pocket.

I thought I remembered seeing oodles of red gowns when I was shopping for a blue one last year. They were everywhere. But come February, department stores seemed to thumb their noses at Valentine's Day and Chinese New Year. Coral was big. Hot pink was prevalent. Salmon was everywhere. Fuschia seemed to be the new red. But there wasn't a real red dress to be found.

I take that back. I found two red gowns at Macy's. One was an Egyptian number with cut-outs all over the torso that seemed to spell NUBILE. The other had a diamond cut out right where your cleavage might be if you had any. At best, this gown would make you look like a Hooters waitress or a pre-teen boy.

I searched high and low and finally opted to order online, something I rarely agree to. Nordstrom had a red gown that came in my size, seemed perfectly middle-class acceptable, so I ordered it.

It's fine. Really. It will be fine.

The good news: I don't need any new accessories.

The bad news: I do need new underwear, a new torso and lipo. The dress fits like a glove, if a glove were made of hand sanitizer and static cling. There is cellulite on my thigh that I can't see with a magnifying glass, but that can be seen from across a dance floor in this dress. My butt looks like the top of an overcooked casserole. I discovered a mole on my hip that I'm going to have to get looked at.

The only parts of my body that don't look like the surface of the moon are the parts that this dress doesn't cover. That would be my arms. And they, honestly, have never won any body part contests. So I suggest they enjoy the short-lived Best Looking Thing on My Body title while they can.

The better news: I hear the red gala has dim lights, so as not to cause any injury to the younger people's eyes.

- Diane Laney Fitzpatrick

Diane Laney Fitzpatrick is a writer, humorist and blogger who lives in San Francisco. She writes a humor blog, Just Humor Me, and has published a book, Home Sweet Homes: How Bundt Cakes, Bubble Wrap, and My Accent Helped Me Survive Nine Moves, about her many cross-country moves with her family. A former newspaper reporter and editor, she is the mother of three grown children.