16 years ago today, I was getting ready for senior Prom. It almost hurts to say that. 16 years. 16 YEARS. Maybe I figured that wrong. That can't be right...let's see...1994 to 2010. That's only like...oh, 16 years. Hmmm. Anyway, Prom. It's a big deal when you're 17, even for someone who didn't like school dances, like me. I liked the idea of dressing up all fancy-like, and going out to dinner with my handsome boyfriend, who also happened to be celebrating his birthday that day which is why I remember the exact date. (Happy Birthday, K. I'll be thinking of you today.) I had the perfect dress, the perfect sparkly jewelry... We had dinner at the Greenbriar Inn in Boulder, where I had a rather revolting dessert that involved feta cheese. Then we headed to his Prom. We walked in, had our pictures taken, turned around and walked back out to his car. Then we drove. We headed up the hill and drove around the back roads. We stopped and may have made out a bit. I'm not admitting to anything. We drove around some more. We laughed and talked.We drove around. We might have made out some more. Until about 4 am. All in all, it was a successful Prom, without any of that actual "Prom" nonsense.
A few weeks ago, my mom gave me a stack of pictures that she had taken that night.
And here I am, with my date (whose identity has been concealed so that he may maintain his International Man of Mystery persona. I wouldn't want to compromise his cover.) I'm pleased to say that I can look at this picture without cringing. The hair could use some help, but my dress really isn't that dated. My husband went to Prom in the late 80s and his date's dress is a monstrous, pastel confection of ribbons and bows, lace, ruffles, poufs and unnecessary bits of fabric. And her hair! Tee hee hee. Snicker. But anyway, I wouldn't sink so low as to make fun of someone for their poor hair or clothing choices. I'm above making fun of others. Ahem.
I had flipped through the remaining pictures and found one of my dad, in his underwear sitting at the counter with a chisel.
"Um. Mom?" I ask. "I don't think this one should be in here."
"Oh, yes it should," she said. "That was taken that night at about 3 am. You still weren't home so your dad decided to get up and re-grout the kitchen counter."
This terrifies me. I know what teenage girls and boys do. Before I know it, I will be the one sitting up all night, hopefully not re-grouting anything, but worrying, just the same. Sitting up at night while my babies are out on dates with members of the opposite sex (or of the same, I guess time will tell.). Kissing and...other stuff.
Chastity belts are sounding better and better. And what about the boys? Do they have something for them? Penis...inhibitors... or something. Hmm. Might have to look into that.