Junior year in high school, I was super psyched to go to prom because I was going with my crush. Let’s call him Ross. Ross was, my boyfriend? My crush? I don’t know what we were, it was kind of undefined. I liked him way more than he liked me, and I was way more excited about prom than he was.
Ross was so unexcited about prom that he felt the need to drink an whole bunch of vodka in the limo on the way to pick me up. I wasn’t drinking, and I had no idea anyone else would be, either. Ross was acting ridiculously giddy during prom pictures. “What a nice kid!” My parents said, beaming at Ross’ enthusiasm as he slid down the staircase, danced with my grandmother, and gave my cat a piggy back ride. But I knew something was amiss.
I didn’t say anything about it, though. I thought we could still have fun. By the time we arrived at the venue, Ross was no longer giddy, he was gone. He couldn’t walk a straight line—instead he staggered into the hall, with my assistance, kissing my cheek messily and trying to semi-violently dance with me. When I squirmed away, he took off on his own, approaching Mrs. Hazel, our up-tight English teacher, twirling her, attempting to dip her, and landing a kiss on her cheek.
“Woo!” he said.
All of this, obviously, alerted the administration.
I don’t mean for this story to be a cautionary tale against teenage drinking... but it is. I can’t help it. Ross got lost, and the next thing I heard, he was throwing up on our dean’s shoes. I didn’t see him again that night because, fifteen minutes into the dance, his parents had been called and he was sent home.
I wish I could go back to that night, because I would have said, “Hey, who cares! Who needs a slow dance partner?!” But I had really liked Ross, and I had imagined spending the dance with him. Instead I chose to be angry, dancing with friends who felt bad for me, dancing alone, and downing a lot of Sierra Mist. SIERRA MIST, ROSS. SIERRA MIST IS THE WAY TO GO.
Now, I tell my mama everything, but this I kept secret. I didn’t want her to think Ross sucked, I still liked him. And I didn’t want her to know my friends drank.
But of course something had to thwart my plans to keep all mum. The next year, at my high school graduation party, Ross’ dad came up to my mom, a little tipsy himself.
“Sorry my son is such a dingbat,” he said. But he did not say dingbat, he said something much more offensive.
“What?” My mom asked?
“Sorry my son got drunk at prom and had to get kicked out and left Lauren all alone.” He thought it was funny.
So my secret was out, and my mom kind of trusted me a little less. Sometimes you just can’t win.
But you can win with Sierra Mist. I will stand by that. It was my shoulder to cry on, it was there for me in some pretty dark times. Good stuff.
This post has not been endorsed by Sierra Mist. But does anyone know where I can get some?
Lauren's story makes us wonder: Would you have told your mom?