I never went to Prom. Thanks for reopening that wound.
However, I did go to the winter formal, “The Sno’ball”
because it was girls’ choice.
Newt and I were looking at old embarrassing photos of my glory days this morning and came across a couple of real gems. Want to see a picture of 15-year-old me having the time of her life with shoes dyed to match?
Awww, aren’t we cute?
If you are wondering why I look so incredibly thrilled, I imagine it’s because this picture was taken two days after my first big break-up. And yes, it was with the boy standing next to me. (Hi, Shane!)
I’d also like to note, those shoes dyed to match? Not so good in Oregon rain. My feet were green for days.
Those photos were from my second year attending the Sno’ball. Sadly, the ones from the year before didn’t seem to survive my adolescence. But I can still paint you a little mental picture of the wonders of that night.
I attended with a nice boy named Dustin. We were just friends. He wore a classic black tux with a red vest. I wore a black dress with a red shawl and had my orthodontist place red rubber bands on my braces to match. I used half a can of blue Aqua-Net and arranged my hair into the stiffest cloud of perfection ever to grace a 14-year-old head.
After a fancy dinner with two other stunning couples at the local Red Lobster, we loaded into an extra fancy horse-drawn carriage.
Before our carriage had gone a block, it was rear ended.
I remember screeching tires and panicked neighing. Then the canvas door ripped off, my date fell out, and the carriage tipped over on him. Aside from a few bumps and bruises we were all okay. And once the police report was given there was still time to dance the night away–in a rain soaked dress and with dissolved hairspray shellacking my face.
You know, now that I think of it, not attending my prom was probably a good thing.
I’d love to hear your formal dance horror stories. I might even send a little consolation something or other to my favorite. Leave a comment or a link to your blog.