Happy Prom Season!

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?
snowball 90
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!)

That fact could explain why I got out my scissors and paste (pre-photoshop days) and doctored up the official Sno’ball photo.
snowball 90a
Obviously, I had my mind on a real winner.

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.



  1. I know I shouldn’t have laughed at “panicked neighing,” but I did. My worst dance memory was from 6th grade. I was asked to a “canteen” (because they weren’t called dances in middle school) by this boy that I didn’t really like. I spent the entire night trying to avoid him and then during the last song, I made sure that there were at least three people between me and him when all the 6th graders had to get into a circle and sway along to “Time of My Life.” Needless to say, it was NOT the time of my life (and taught me very important lessons about saying NO to things that I didn’t really want to do!)

    • Oh dear! Sixth grade is never, ever the time of anyone’s life.
      (And who doesn’t like a good panicked neighing?)

  2. Oh I love it! I actually LOVE that you were brave enough to ask a boy to a dance, because I never was and therefore never went to a single dance.

    Your gloves are so glam, as is the reported Red Lobster/Carriage ride.

    So much fun to read, sister!

    • Thank you, lovely! I so believe you would be brave enough now. Seize the day!

  3. Heya Heidi –

    First off, I wore a dress I saw modeled by Kristi Yamaguchi, black and one-shouldered, but mostly, approved by Kristi Yamaguchi (btw, you really can’t use her initials!). My date wore … I can’t remember.

    Minor horror story: My date’s car was stolen from the parking lot only to be found a week later blocking the liquor loading dock at the Family Thrift Center. The saddest part was losing the photos. Being that he was the bus boy at a local Chinese place, we did formal photos with the wait staff, real gems I’m sure.

    • From KY fashion to grand theft auto, that’s a night to remember.

  4. Your life is just the best thing I’ve ever seen.

    Dude. You should like, write books or something… 😉

    • Hahahaha! Ahem. Well, I do try.

  5. At my eighth grade graduation dance one boy asked me — if I was wearing shorts under my dress. Nobody asked me to dance. When I finally walked up to a chubby kid who at least had several friends and asked him to dance he said no. Then the following Monday a chubby kid with no friends gave me shit about it. Because our graduation dance was three weeks before graduation.

    We all deserve trophies for surviving middle school.

    • We do. We really do.

  6. I love horror stories but bringing these back up for me is just too much…I can’t share the actual truth – but suffice it to say, I did have my own reality show horror prom. 🙁 Not S. King’s Carrie or anything but bad enough to not want to relive it today

    • I am intensely curious. And also sorry. Formal dances are horrors.

  7. I went to one dance in middle school and was soooo boooored that I never went to another.
    But I DO remember dying shoes to match dresses. Why did we DO that? Who thought that was a good idea? You had to go to Payless and pick the stupid white sateen shoes then hand them over with the swatch of fabric from the stupid and ugly dress and then wait a million days and you’d put them on, feel pretty, and then they’d leak dye all over your white tights. Such a bad idea.
    I was going to go to prom with my BFF because she’d arranged dates for us but then those guys realized they had concert tickets to Billy Joel the same night so couldn’t drive down to go to prom and we shrugged it off and decided to go do our own thing instead. I was so relieved because I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do less than hang out in an ugly dress with a bunch of other people in ugly dresses in our smelly gym. We “cruised the ave, scoping for guys” (that was the official term) and found some and they were jerks but it didn’t matter because it was a beautiful night and we sang our songs at the top of our lungs and flirted from the car. Much better than dancing and getting my white tights stained orchid.

  8. AQUA-NET! Despite using that stuff my hair would not stay put for junior prom. My hair is about as thick as the ponies manes of your horse-drawn carriage. Up-dos don’t do for me. Perhaps I should have ratted it, but it was the 90s and ratting is so 80s. Your story is hilarious!



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