Prom Prom Prominator

Oh, prom.

It seems to be about a 50/50 split when people talk about their prom. Half say prom was a magical night of glitter and dancing and sparkles and laughter. Half say it was the worst night of their life.

At the time, the fiasco that was my Senior Prom seemed like the worst thing that could have ever happened to me. Ultimately, it was the beginning of the end of many of my high school relationships – in particular, it was most definitely the beginning of the end of the friendship between my best friend and I.

In the months before prom, I was dating a younger guy. He was a sophomore, I was a senior, and I was sure I was in love. He was sweet, played guitar – just my type. I’ve always loved a man who played guitar. My friends thought it unlikely that I cared so much for a guy who had his eye on joining the military (in fact, he was a cadet in the CAP). Let me tell you, though – the regular diet of discipline and excercise made for a very hot bod. In truth, I was in lust, not love, but it felt like love. It was as close as I’d been to love thus far, and the emotions were intense.

For reasons I won’t go into here, because it involves crazy family members (his) and because it’s not my story to tell, he was suspended from school shortly before my prom. He was also banned from any extra-curricular activities – including prom. He was obviously my date, so the whole thing was off to a bad start. My best friend at the time, Sarah, promised that we would work around it. I’d go with another friend to prom (an ex-boyfriend, actually. That boy was my favorite mistake …) and we’d all meet up for Disco bowling in our prom attire afterwards. Once that was done, we’d all head back to my house for some post-prom partying until 5am, when all the seniors were going to meet at Denny’s for breakfast.

Let me say this again: the plans? They were set. I was pleased that I’d be able to meet up with Paul (boyfriend) after the prom and still have a good time with him. And he’d be at my house for the after-party, too. I had deals with a few guys to dance with me (that’s all I cared about at school dances – actual dancing. I wanted to dance my ass off). The limo was paid, the dress purchased, the reservation for bowling made and a deposit paid.

Two days before prom, the 8 other people in our limo – including my backstabbing, hypochondriac, ugly-face bestie – informed me that they’d changed the plans. Everyone was going to Sarah’s house after, there was no bowling, and Sarah’s mom didn’t want any guys at her house, so Paul wasn’t invited. Which meant I wouldn’t see my boyfriend on prom night, which to a senior in high school is the END OF THE WORLD OMG DIE DIE DIE.

I was livid. I stopped speaking to Sarah – to all of them – not because the plans had changed, though I was pissed about that – but because they had gone behind my back. They could have talked to me about wanting to change everything, but instead they went over my head. It sucked, it hurt, and I felt betrayed.

I cried getting ready for prom. I cried when I showed up at Sarah’s house for pre-prom pictures. I cried, quietly, when we got into the limo. I danced some, but cried in the girls bathroom once prom started. I felt utterly alone.

The cherry on top of this disaster sundae was when I escaped into the girls bathroom for what must have been the fifth time that night, and ran into my “social butterfly best friend” – another girl named Sarah, when will I learn?! – who had been alternatively clinging to me and blowing me off for about 10 years. She was drunk, so very drunk, and she stumbled into the bathroom and hung an arm around my neck and told me, “Cat, you were the best friend I ever had. You always fixed all my problems. I don’t appreciate you enough. Let’s hang out more.” Of course, that ended the same way it always did – she never called, never got around to finding time for me despite my attempts to connect. Even worse, I didn’t figure out that I should stop trying until just recently.

So. I don’t have any pictures to show you of my prom, because my eyes were puffy and my makeup was running. My smiles were strained and my dress was wrinkled. Lucky for me, I have two little girls, so I can live vicariously through them at their proms. They’ll let me tag along, right?

Now, link up your posts, because my girls won’t have their proms for another 15 years. For now, I’ll live vicariously through yours!