The Prom

So, Andrea (see engaged friend in Labor Haze) decided to throw a surprise 30th birthday party for her now fiancé, Thad, and was toying with a bunch of themes (you know, the typical ’80s theme, tacky formalwear, everyone just wearing a T-shirt with Thad’s face on it, etc.) when she came up with the brilliant idea of….drumroll please….Senior. Prom.  It couldn’t have been more perfect.  While most of the other E-vited guests’ minds wandered to ‘80s proms and overall tacky, thrift store digs, my immediate thought was, I’m wearing my Senior Prom dress.  I will get my mom to dig it out of the closet and I will Astroglide myself into that thing if I have to, but I am going to keep it real for this party.  Luckily enough, I stopped at my parents’ house for Labor Day weekend and my mom already had the dress laid out on my bed in all of its red, sequined, slutty glory: still in the hanging Caché bag I stuffed it in the day after the prom in 2001, and complete with sash and handbag.  Perfect.  I stuffed that sucker in my suitcase and brought it down to Atlanta for its Southern debut the following weekend.

I tried on the dress the night before the party and it would have been fine, except for the cutouts on the side.  I just wasn’t comfortable with what those cutouts showcased after my 4-day Labor Day eating and drinking binge that seemed to continue for another 3 days after I got back.  So, it was a little touch-and-go there for a while, but when my guy friend, Foley, called me the next day (Prom Day) and asked me to be his date, I realized I couldn’t let that insignificant “too tight” mishap stop me; it had to be worn.  So, that night, I put it on and realized if I just unzipped it a LITTLE bit in the back and safety pinned it, I had enough wiggle room to look OK.  Talk about….a custom-made gown.  So, I put it on, curled my hair and pinned it back old-school style and headed out the door.  First, I had to stop at Tin Roof (read: dive bar) for my friend Jim’s Ironman celebration party.  Needless to say, no one else was in formalwear.  That was interesting.  So, I left and was on my way to the Prom, when I realized, Only LOSERS drive THEMSELVES to the Prom. I am going to call a driver (ie. a cab), so I headed home to fix myself another drink and call one.  I played cab roulette (see Entertaining Married People), Checker Cab got the honor and was (thank goodness for the driver) on time.

I hopped in the cab and the first thing that cab driver said was, “I smell alcohol.”  That would be my solo cup of Chardonnay, buddy. “Oh, really? Weird,” I said.  “So, I’m headed to East Andrews for the Prom!”  Second hilarious comment from cabbie: “Are you in high school?”  I politely explained to him that it was a themed party and asked him to tune the radio to 95.5 The Beat in hopes of hearing some sort of Usher or Ginuwine jam from 2001.  He happily obliged.  When my driver and I pulled up to the top of the East Andrews stairs leading down to the terrace, everyone was already down on the terrace so it was QUITE an entrance.  I got out, got lots of laughs and cheers, and my date RAN up the stairs to greet and embrace me before I could even get out my cab fare.

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Then we walked down the stairs and into the party, arm-in-arm.  What…a moment.  I enjoyed being center-of-attention more than usual due to the fact that I never even got on Prom Court in high school because everyone thought I was a stuck-up bitch…..which I was.

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The party was rockin’ and Thad was genuinely surprised…to see all of us…then to see all of us in our heinous prom wear.  He walked in and someone tossed him an old-school blazer along with this snazzy T-shirt.

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In case you can’t tell, that is a REAL glamour shot that Thad got taken when he was 17 (yes, 17), and a caption that says, “I’ve been looking fine since 1979.”

Speeches were given (one by me and most of which turned out to be more about Thandrea’s engagement than Thad’s birthday), we danced, drank, took celebratory shots, then the band played….Lady In Red.  I may or may not have shrieked in excitement.  So, my date and I hit the dance floor, using my sash as a prop, and this is what ensued.  This photo is not staged:

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Needless to say, my date’s lack of suave moves on the dance floor (and obvious intention to strangle me with my own sash) put a rift between us for the rest of the evening, and when I left the party (earlier than I would have liked, due to a work engagement the following day), he was nowhere to be found.  A week later, I heard he went home with someone else, and THIS photo surfaced as proof:

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Yup, that’s him.  Yet, all I can say is that my date hooking up with another girl after the dance truly made the night an authentic Senior Prom.  Well done, Andrea.  Well….done.  I am glad to have taken Prom Queen runner-up to you.

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7 Responses to “The Prom”

  1. Meredith Ley says:

    Well done! Love it so much I’m linking over!

  2. ashley says:

    I’m linking to yours, too, which I love! Once I figure out how….

  3. [...] right, folks.  There he is:  my senior prom date (see: The Prom).  Clearly, we’ve made up since that fateful [...]

  4. [...] Another lowlight:  I got dumped at The Prom. [...]

  5. [...] Enter: Foley (yes, my senior prom date). [...]

  6. [...] times.  I won’t get into details, but I’ll say that one snafu happened after I posted The Prom and one happened after I posted Inbreastigative Reporting.  You can take your [...]

  7. [...] one would care. Like somewhere on or around Irby Avenue. The moment I knew we had to leave was when Foley politely had his hand on our server’s shoulder while telling her his drink order and a [...]