Monday, June 06, 2011
I Survived Prom 2011
Back when I was a senior the weeks leading up to my prom included all the drama of an episode of Glee, minus the musical scenes, unless you count me in the shower. To make a long, immature story short, I found my slightly overconfident self, just days before the big event, shockingly and suddenly date-less. With the plans I had made for months changed, I mustered up the courage to ask the nicest guy I knew to be my date, someone in my math class. When I approached this boy to ask him to the prom I was looking down at the floor and as embarrassed as I was, I’ll never forget the expression of surprise on his face, or the way some of his friends were high-fiving each other down the hall as they watched. We spent the prom after party in his pool playing marco polo with a bunch of other kids until the wee hours of the morning and as simple as that plan was, we still had a great time without the rest of the teens in our limo, who were off to a hotel in the Hamptons.
Going as a chaperone to the prom this past week was a very different experience, to say the least. Having about 10 minutes to get ready this time as opposed to the 6 hours I took preparing for my own prom, I put on the first formal dress I could find in the closet. I threw some gel in my hair as I made raviolis for the kids and the babysitter. Then I distributed feety pajamas and fed the dog as I applied my lipstick crookedly. For the real prom I had a petite beaded, matching purse. This time I had my Vera Bradley satchel stuffed to the brim with Sippy cups, notepads and power bars, the digital recorder I use for reporting randomly turning on in the side pocket causing the voice of a local legislator to bellow out from the depths of my bag. That’s not cool, but if you are me, there’s just no time to care.
During the night I watched my “date” check limos for contraband and run around preventing teens from wandering into dark corners as I had dinner on an outside balcony with teachers who were eating in shifts. One thing that has gotten worse over the years, I think, is dance floor behavior. It seems that the ballad is currently in danger of extinction, and who needs it, quite frankly, when there is much more bodily contact involved in a fast song whose lyrics you would not recite to your grandmother. The floor was packed with a mass of grinding teens and teachers who attempted to venture into the middle were never seen again.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if a newborn popped right out of the top of that crowd,” one chaperone joked, sort of.
In the end, the elegant room with its crystal chandeliers and white tulle curtains cleared. A parade of chattering girls in their satin gowns and strappy shoes sans stockings escorted by young men standing taller in their formal attire filed out of the building, disappearing in cars. The night went off without a hitch and just like my prom in ’93, the event was totally Kosher. After all, the breast left behind on the dance floor was synthetic.
Dear Internet Traveler,
Welcome to my writer's blog, started about six years ago for fun. Over time, the writing I have posted has ranged from personal reflection, to Long Island history research, to tall tales for my own amusement, to feature articles for local newspapers. As you can see from topics listed here, I travel in many mental directions in regard to interests. Click on the tabs and labels to explore my strange mind which senses that you may be having a criss-cross day. If so, perhaps this blog will distract you. However, please note that if you tell me my blog is beautiful just to get me to advertise rhinoplasty surgery and cheap drugs from Canada in your comment, I will ask the gods to give you a tail that cannot be concealed.