Wild horses couldn't have dragged me to Prom.
I helped decorate, and enjoyed the daylights out of THAT-- ladders, streamers, wires, tape, balloons, oh my. Wonderful fun.
I probably SHOULD have gone-- I should have stuffed my purse with tissues, taken a good book, and been hanging out in the ladies' room.
But I knew no one was going to ask me, there was no one I wanted to ask, and I didn't want to put on itchy hose and uncomfortable shoes and a stupid dress that I was going to feel like a fool in, then deal with one long string of awkward moments, just for the gratification of having silly upset girls with mascara all over their faces tell me that I was really nice and we should've been friends.
I suppose I'd feel really regretful if someone had gotten raped or killed in a DUI accident or something-- that would have been the other thing I would have been there to try to stop-- but luckily that year no one did. We were a pretty tame class.
I stayed home, got stoned in the woods. I had a much better time.
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"Alas, our dried voices when we whisper together are quiet and meaningless, as wind in dry grass, or rats' feet over broken glass in our dry cellar." --TS Eliot, "The Hollow Men"