måndag, maj 08, 2006

I tried to talk Elle and her best friend into rentng dates for the Prom.

"They would need an identity," one says.
"A dossier," the other says.

They are thinking 007. I just realize that I have proposed American Gigolo. I suggest next that a whole group of undated go.

"The prom is geared for couples, starting with intro photographs right down to seating arrangements," she responds.
"You have the power to change things," I say.
"I need a dress," Elle says.
"Are you even going?" I ask.
"You could make me a dress," Elle continues.

Well, yes. Yes I could. And wouldn't it look just swell, all uneven and poofy in the wrong place and mostly taped together. I imagine a few gowns done at my hand, full of satin and lace and tulle stiffness that will never fit well. I think of the three fairies in Sleeping Beauty.

How long does it take, that space of time when my imagination goes to far away places and images? Is it a noticable lag? Anyway, back to reality. I have to get the number of a few escort services.

3 Comments:

Anonymous Keith said...

Prom is so fun. And memorable.

I took the sister of the girl I was madly in love with who ended up marrying my high school nemesis, who just happened to be a cowboy, which somehow makes things worse when you're a skinny teenage boy who is not a cowboy and has no intention of becoming one, even to impress the girl you are madly in love with.

Oh, the prom. Yes, I almost forgot. This is a prom story, not an unrequited love story, although really, can anyone honestly tell the difference?

So the sister, my date, ends up sneaking off with some cowboy less than an hour into the night, never to be seen again. Well, come to think of it, I'm sure I must have seen her that following week in school. Maybe I had a bad cut or something and she brought the salt. I can't remember.

In short, I hope your daughter's prom experience is nothing like mine was. Except for the puffy sleeve part, of course. Those seem to never go out of style (or come in, I'm not sure which).

10:48 fm  
Blogger Bebe said...

Back in. Puffy is back in.

I can't find the Sunset magazine to report on the chocolate flowers. I wanted to let you know which they were. I left the comment box open for a week, probably until one of my kids tried to resinstall the evil AIM instant messenger.

There are no happy prom stories and even fewer successful cowboy romances. I told her it was a ridiculous notion, this prom stuff, based (I was guessing) on a tradition from a time when most married right out of high school. Instead of thinking, "Hmmm. I see your point, Mom. Perhaps I will consider changing the tradition," she said, "Oh, I think it would be wonderful if every party were black tie." Apparently, I have given birth to a wedding planner.

5:28 fm  
Anonymous Keith said...

Upon rereading my comment, I see that I may have mislead you and your readers.

I did not wear puffy sleeves that night. Nor any night, that I can recall, although in all honesty, I do have a terrible memory, which reminds me... am I supposed to be remembering something about chocolate flowers?

I'm sure by asking I've embarrassed myself, but I'm not worried. I'll forget all about it soon enough.

11:33 fm  

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