Prom, of course, is not actually a one-day event, but a three-month marathon. My friends and I prepared for it in the usual way, tossing debates about limos, corsages, and dresses into our lunch conversations and movie marathons. Dates got added to the mix, which made things slightly more complicated (but a lot more fun). It took about ten weeks to make all the reservations, buy tickets and dresses, and figure out who was going with whom. Based on all the planning I expected a very traditional promenade experience: pictures, limo, dinner, dance, after-prom, and after-after-prom, all ending in breakfast with my besties at The Original Pancake House to discuss the night before.
The night started with photos at a friend’s house, where I managed to sneeze, talk, blink, and generally look stupid in every single picture. Other than my dumb face getting in the way, I looked really good. I wore a gorgeous red column dress, and my hair was pin straight and miraculously unfrizzy. I was also taking advantage of the fact that I didn’t have a date by wearing six-inch heels. The shoes combined with my 5’11 height meant that it would be near impossible for me to get lost in a crowd that night.
After photos, my prom crew rolled out to dinner at a Chinese restaurant. The limo was stocked with excessive amounts of Capri Sun, terrible eighties music, and neon lighting, but it was so much fun. Dinner itself was uneventful—I even made it out of there without spilling something on my self. The dance was okay. In hindsight, it was not exactly the most magical part of the evening. The highlight definitely occurred after the prom king and queen were announced, when the DJ accidentally put on Lil Kee’s “Bust it Wide Open” instead of whatever sap he actually had planned.
The trouble really began as the dance was ending and people were starting to leave. At this point, there'd been a fair amount of date swapping, and I was shamelessly flirting with a boy who had either arrived dateless or since lost his date. As I turned to coolly (or so I planned) walk away, someone stepped on the hem of my dress.
Disaster! I tripped, tearing my dress, scraping my nose, cutting open my forehead and knee, and twisting my ankle. My best friends picked me up off the floor and drove me to the emergency room, where we spent the next three hours. Turns out my ankle was sprained, and I ended up on crutches for the next two weeks. My after-prom and after-after prom? I spent those at a Taco Bell, hopped up on pain meds and eating tacos like there was no tomorrow.
Long story short: I should've worn flats.
Have you ever had a dance disaster?