Real-Life Prom

The podcast that I listen to while I run was discussing proms as I hoofed it around the Harlem Meer this morning. The premise was that everybody imagines a wonderful prom for themselves, but nobody actually has a good real life prom. I hadn't thought about my prom in quite some time, but as I continued my run, I considered my prom, or what my old and senile brain could remember of my prom, and I think they're right. Looking back, I don't think that my prom was bad as much as it was just...not good. It was apparently so blase that my brain chose to commit very little of the ordeal to memory.

At least the pictures make it look like we had a good time.



It rained the day of my prom. It was a constant, torrential rain which resulted in me wearing my mother's black and white polka dot raincoat and a pair of blue rain boots I'd had since childhood as I drove out to pick up my date in my '98 Ford Taurus. To be honest, I don't remember much beyond that. I'm sure we went to dinner...though I'm not sure where, and I DID get to dance with the boy I liked...though the odds of us becoming "a thing" seemed much smaller than I'd hoped, particularly because the topic of conversation en route to the dance had involved him having sex with some other girl. I'm sure we had an after party of sorts. Part of me thinks that there was a tent involved, but the whole thing is so cloudy that I am really not sure. And it's making me feel old.

So prom was decidedly not awesome. In fact, most of ti was so "eh" that I don't even remember it. What I do remember is the afternoon after prom. We went home, we slept in, and we reunited in H's attic to watch Pretty in Pink. It was still raining, and it was just us. The girls. Soulmates. Laughing and crying about the night before. It wasn't romantic or fantastical, it was real life. And I wouldn't have had that part any other way.