I’m going to the prom tonight. Not as a chaperon. (I have at least 6 or 7 years before I get to torture my children in that manner.) No, tonight is the annual “Cheverly Prom,” a long honored tradition of the adults in Cheverly getting dolled up and drinking a lot of booze so that they can be hungover the next day, otherwise known as “Cheverly Day.” Cheverly Day is also an annual tradition with an early morning parade; a fair-like atmosphere; and most importantly to the kids, a moon bounce.
Usually Cheverly Day is 90 degrees and humid, thus I try to pretend that I “forgot” about it so that I don’t have to go watch the boys risk their dental work and pristine noses while I stand by sweating profusely and cursing the noise. (I know, I lack community spirit.) And thus far, I have never been to the so-called prom. But as you should know by now, I like all things bacchanalian. And I have been told that everyone drinks a lot of wine at the prom. So when my friend Kate asked me to be her date (her husband Rob is gallantly doing the NYC to DC Climate Ride this weekend) of course I had to accept.
Kate is super cute and we have a good rapport, but I’m pretty sure that at the end of tonight, my status of not hooking up with my prom date will be intact. Junior year of high school, I broke up with my boyfriend/date in between dinner and the prom. My mom was horrified, thought that he would presume I had just been going out with him in order to go to the prom. Really, I was just petrified at his suggestion that I apply to colleges in the state where he (a year ahead of me in school) was headed in the fall. So I broke up with him, spent the evening dancing with my friends, and at the end of the night, when he brought me home at 11:15 instead of the 1:00am curfew my mom had for once in my high school life set, everyone in the family was astonished.
Senior year, I got perilously close to the prom without having been asked to go. Then one of my dearest friends, a junior, not wanting me to miss this seminal event in a relatively popular high school girl’s life, mercifully asked me to be his date. We went. We had fun. But we agreed later that the funds would have been better spent on a weekend in Boston. But hey, if I hadn’t gone to my senior prom, I’d have always regretted it. Well, for at least a few years anyway. (But if you are reading, thanks for the gesture Ryan because it is only in retrospect that I have such a mature attitude about it. I owe you a trip to Boston.)
Of course, what to wear has been on my mind off and on since I accepted Kate’s invitation. Not feeling at the height of my hotness, I have been loathe to try on anything prom-worthy from my own closet. But I also am not going to accept the post-back procedure state of my body by buying a new dress. So my first appearance to the CHV prom might be in skinny jeans and a sequin top. After all, I was not rebellious enough in high school to make such a statement, so why not now?
And I promise Kate that no matter what happens, I won’t break up with her tonight.