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Jett Superior laid this on you on || April 12, 2003 || 10:49 pm

My sister, all five-feet-beautiful-eleven inches of her, is going to her junior prom tonight. She’s nervous as all fuck.

She’s had her dress for eighteen months now, a gorgeous shimmery grey thing that defies description, and I’ve been scooping up accessories here and there over time for her to pick and choose from (best offering: the fashionista purse made from rough muslin and delicate silver wire slung with rough-hewn beads here and there). It took an hour and a half this morning to craft her thick auburn hair into the intricate latticework of tendrils that she craved.

Boy Extraordinaire has a father that has a plane and a pilot’s license. Boy Extraordinaire and his Resident Best Friend saved up the money for fuel so that they could take the young misses to a land far away from Hellabama to dine and while away the day. My sister is being, rightfully so, treated like a princess by Boy Extraordinaire. I like that immensely.

SIDE NOTE/WHINEBITCHWHINE: My older sister was greeted at the door by a chauffer and a nanny one afternoon, who advised her that she was to gather her coat and purse. The chauffer took her to the airport, where my brother-in-law and some buddies had a private jet waiting. Lorrie and the other men’s wives boarded the plane, finding lovely wrapped boxes with their names on them in their respective seats. Upon opening the boxes, the gals found a pile o’ cash each, along with a note that said, “Buy nice things today. Theater tickets and dinner reservations await us in New York.”

Where is MY plane, you sonsabitches?? endSIDENOTE/WHINEBITCHWHINE

Emma has been all about this prom. She’s on the committee, has painstakingly planned and carefully picked so that she and her compatriots are promised a night of pubescent romance and bliss. She’s nervous as a bride in June, and just very painfully sweet about it all. I have been smiling and smiling about the prospect of helping her get ready, about taking the photos that she will someday look back on fondly. She is wide-eyed with wonder and sentimental to a fault over this whole thing.

My own junior prom, pfft, I had no interest in attending. The Young Marinetm, however, was all about the pomp and circumstance. And all about having a leggy blonde date with large breastessess.

Seriously, I’d been to my share of proms and cotillions (YES, there are such antiquated, ritualistic things in the South and they are glorious) and military balls and formal dress-up whositswhatsits. I just didn’t want to go to prom that year. As was to be expected, my family said, “Screw what you want, let’s make some memories and pictures.”

I am nothing if not good at digging my heels in over a matter, but I was no match for my loved ones. The Young Marinetm went out and bought a dress, faring quite nicely in the size (I can just see him in the shoppe, circling his hands, ‘Her waist is about this big,’ and then cupping them in front of him, ‘Her boobs are about this big…’) and style department. My mother bought my accessories with no input from me save, “If you come home with white stockings, they better have a seam up the back!!” Ended up that she didn’t find those particular stockings, so I hauled The Young Marinetm all over Memphis to every major mall and little specialty shoppe to find them. That was the deal-breaker: If I didn’t have white, back-seamed stockings, it was a no-go. Never underestimate the Marine Corps. They stormed the beaches at Normandy, and they can reconnoiter specialty hosiery with the best of ‘em.

They will also carry you a block-and-a-half in their arms, bride-style and without mussing their tuxes, just for show. And so you won’t turn one of your spike-heeled feet on the pebbly walk. Chivalry. Mayhap sometimes it’s a means to an end, but chivalry is chivalry, byGod and no doubt about it.

So we danced and goofed and generally had ourselves a good time before leaving the big city for the little country back roads, him wearing my garter across his sinewy bicep, me demurely sporting his bow-tie and tails.

We parked the car and made our way through the foot-high grass of a freshly dewdropped field. Somewhere out in the middle of it, like a gift from the naughtiest of the fairy-folk, was a weather-beaten mattress, smelling of sweet outdoors. We, in amazement and silent praise, lie down on it while the humidity and barely-dancing wheatgrass wrapped themselves around us, shielding us from the world. The katydids serenaded and the stars sparkled come-hitherlike and that boy and I made love five, six times (the one that would ask my momma for my hand in marriage some three weeks afterward) before setting ourselves to rights and heading home.

“Did you have a good time?” my mother asked when we entered the foyer, flushed and content.

“Yeah, but I can’t walk properly,” I said effusively, “these damned shoes….”

I helped Em pick out slippers. With barely a hint of a sole, much less a heel. She’s a good girl, approaching this prom and everything else in life in an entirely different manner than I did, but I’m no fool.

12 worked it out »

  1. delmer 4.13.2003

    i remember my junior prom, I had the prettiest dress, and was queen of the old west….

    or something like that.

     
  2. waistdog 4.13.2003

    I never did the Proms.

    I was a young hipster in training, The Anti-Marine, if you will……And us sorts didn’t do that kind of thing.

    Although, my coulda been prom date and I did our share of flying.

    Without wings, and long before Red Bull.

     
  3. The head girl of my high school asked me to prom

    -BUT-

    She was only head girl because she had some kind of terminal disease (and she speaks French)

    -SO-

    i went with a large crowd of handsome boys instead.

    -NOTE-

    the campy goodness of last photo

     
  4. When I was 15 and had no will or personality of my own, my best friend (a term I used quite sincerely then, and quite ironically now), Cathy, made me go to the junior prom. And being as I was a total loser in that department she found me a date. And then she told me halfway through the evening that he was gay. And then I felt like even more of a total loser. And then I dropped out of high school and started college a year early. And then I realized that, even if I was doomed to a lifetime of total loserhood in the dating department, I no longer had to be a total loser in the friendship department and have found much better ones than Cathy.

     
  5. Kat 4.14.2003

    I was a real geek: never went to my prom. Went to state academic team compeition instead, where we got dressed up in formals for the banquet and danced like loons afterward on the balcony at Virgin Megastore Orlando. So I have no cheesy pictures and no horror stories, but at least I had a decent time.

     
  6. Jett 4.15.2003

    Valerie: the only problem with ‘dating’ a gay man is that he will always have a critique of your appearance at hand to gift you with.

    This, at times, is not necessarily a bad thing; you can glean some really great beauty advice if said gay man was not overly-snarky.

    Del: don’t you lie, bitch….you took Mary Lou’s great-grandmomma to the prom, you goatlover.

    waisty: yes, yes my dear, the days of *ahem* wine and *AHHHHEMMMM* innocence

    Kat: shortly after my junior prom, I vowed with four other girls to go stag to senior prom.

    Predictably enough, all but one filched on that idea. The partner in crime and I stayed out till dawn, doing silly things in our formals such as climbing the huge justice statue in downtown Memphis and boldly marching into a biker bar for early morning libations. Ahhh, the bliss…

    Richard: last photo?? Whaaaaa?

     
  7. delmer 4.16.2003

    actually, prior to my life as a goat loving rural-ite, I was a mild mannered city boy.

    all of a sudden, I found myself in love with the world

    so there was only one thing that I could do

    was ding a ding dang my dang a long ling long

     
  8. Ha. That’s exactly how we spent the junior prom — critiquing other girls’ outfits. I think he was kind enough to spare me a critique of mine, which was a leftover bridesmaid dealie from my brother’s wedding.

    Man, that was 20 years ago. I am getting old.

    Oh, and I beg to differ. That’s not the only problem with “dating” a gay man. ;-)

    My niece graduated (valedictorian! woohoo!) last year from the same high school. Happily, they had changed the rules so that you no longer had to have a date to go to the prom, so she went with a bunch of her girlfriends and had a much better time.

     
  9. Jett

    Maybe if your .css template wasnt so poorly functional, and you changed it to make links a different colour, you would notice that i posted three links in that message. Go on, run your cursor over the entire message, and discover my hidden photographic treasures.

    ps. despite your unfunctionality, im still completely infatuated, dont get me wrong

     
  10. Jettomatika 4.16.2003

    RICHARD D BARTLETT, I am the only one allowed to be surly and churlish here!! Well, not really, but you must not have read the MORE (linklinklink!) pages, most especially the one that speaks to my inability to design or implement jack shit from a computeriffic standpoint.

    That last photo was very creepy in its ‘Lord Of The Flies’ sort of vibe…

     
  11. aplogies

    saw 2nd most beautiful website ever (after mine, of course, dahwlings)

    assumed you were a geek

    wont happen again

     
  12. Jett 4.18.2003

    Does this mean that you are less enamoured of me, Richard D?

    I must know!

     

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