He asked, I said…
There is a question that is hands down the most important question a girl will be asked in her life.
I hate you all right now, because I know you’re all thinking that I’m engaged. Come on, readers. If you’ve read any of my past tales, you know that my last few semblances of relationships have all crashed and burned in some kind of spectacular fashion.
No, no. I am talking about that great rite of passage…Prom.
I was never asked to prom. My junior year, I started dating Ex. This was in April, a month before his senior prom, and he had asked someone the week before. Terrible timing.
I ended up asking this random guy I knew from the Relient K Air Conditioning and Fan Club (Yes, that existed).
At prom, junior year. We are walking into the ballroom where the dance is happening after dinner.
L.A.’s Date: So, I probably should have mentioned this…I get panic attacks in large groups of people.
L.A. (rather rudely and incredulously): You mean like at dances?
Senior year, I was still dating Ex, so obviously. I just took him. Since he was a year older, and thus out of high school at this point, he didn’t ask me to prom. It was just assumed we would go together. On the plus side, I looked much better at this dance, and did not have braces.
Thus, I have never been asked to prom. Wait, that’s wrong.
It’s 2012. I’m 25. I graduated high school 7 years ago. I still get carded at bars, but I figure it’s because I don’t look 21, not because I do look 17.
A kid comes into my office. He tells me that he’s almost done with school. That’s so exciting. I ask all the questions about where is going to go next year, what does he want to major in, etc, when he corrects me.
He’s almost done with his junior year. Then he’s a senior. Then he’s in college. I missed that step that he has to finish high school before he goes to college. You know what other step I missed? Prom.
“Aw,” I say. “When’s prom?”
“Saturday,” he tells me.
“Who are you going with?” I ask. I feel like my mother.
“No one actually,” he replies. “Just by myself. Got some friends going.”
“That’s cute,” I say.
“Yeah,” he sighs. ” There aren’t a lot of cool girls at my school. What are you doing Saturday?”
I laugh. “Not going to prom, unfortunately.”
“Oh.” There’s a pause. “Do you want to?”
Same week. Different time. I’m in a different colored pair of scrubs.
“So, I heard you say you’re almost done with school,” I tell a kid as he is leaving. “Senior year next year, huh?”
He nods. “I’ll be so glad to get out of there.”
“I think everyone feels that way towards the end. Don’t worry. Someday, you’ll miss it.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t want to go to graduation next year.”
I’m in shock. “These are landmarks of your life right now! You have to go to your graduation! The all night party! Prom!”
“Did you want to go?” He asks me.
“Absolutely!” I’ve entered story telling mode. “Graduation was so much fun, and THE CHURCH CAUGHT FIRE!”
“Oh,” he says. “I meant prom. Did you want to go to prom?”
“I went to prom twice,” I tell him. “Senior year partly to make up how terribly I looked junior year.”
“No,” he corrects himself. He’s purple. “I meant did you want to go to prom now.”
I’m silent. “I don’t think they let 25 year olds into prom.” I finally say. “Maybe I’ll chaperone when my kid is in high school and embarrass him.”
Well, there you go. I’ve finally been asked to prom. Twice.
It’s only 7 years late.