Prom: The Good, The Bad, and The Almost Broken Heel
Prom has been on the minds of seniors since the beginning of September, next to the coveted prom weekend. Everyone can relate that there’s a frustrating struggle in the prep leading up to prom. Questions like: Will I get a date? Where can I find a dress that doesn't’ look like Tiffany’s even though I really want that dress? Where do I get my hair done for the low? And most importantly: What do I caption my Instagram post?
In September, it seemed like such a distant thing that when it finally came all the questions already had their answers. On June 7th, a shocking Thursday for some reason, girls put on their best dress for the 40th time (because let's admit it we’ve walked around the house a couple times in it before prom) and guys put on their tux for the first time. The moment all those cheesy-90’s-movies highlighted when we were younger had finally come to cement that fact that we will soon be worrying about debt. But was all of this stress, money, and crying because you got eyelash glue in your eye (the struggle is real), worth it?
When June 7th arrived, it didn’t hit me that I’d be going to prom. I went last year and that felt more surreal than my own prom. The school day started off with the promise of knowing I, like many of my classmates, would only be there up until lunch. Despite not having it hit me, there was this kind of jittery feeling in my stomach. Most conversations I had with people consisted of these main topics:
“How much is too much spray tan?” (This is a popular one because we live in Jersey.)
“When do I get my boutonniere if I have a hair appointment?”
“I still don’t have a dress, oops!”
My biggest struggle in the day came in the form of pictures. My date, Anthony, and I decided on pictures about a day before seeing as we’re both procrastinators. I also don’t know how to manage my time, which isn’t great for any scenario. This has been a tendency of mine since formal, which was a mess, not only cause I spent $200 on a dress to go to the high school gym, but because I’m a hormonal teen who finds any way to stress herself out. The pictures may have been a stress factor, but I know something far worse; my heels.
I mastered the art of heels when I was in sixth grade. The only thing I couldn’t quite get about them though was staying completely balanced. One minute I’m Naomi Campbell and the next, I find my ankles tangled together. While taking the photos on my deck, my tiny heel got trapped in between the boards. Slow motion kicked in and suddenly I saw $80 vanish into thin air. Somehow I managed to free myself and Anthony and I were on our way to the poorly-timed pictures fiasco.
We went to my friend, Skye’s, who had already taken a group shot. When I got there the sun was blazing and I looked like a glazed donut. Everything seemed pretty fine until I began to walk. My heel became trapped in my silk dress, ripping a hole. Now, if this happened on the dance floor I would take that as a sign of my Beyonce like dance skills, but it happened by simply walking. Everyone at the pictures reacted and I felt the same rip from the dress in my heart. Ant and I left and bounced between two other houses before driving over to The Grove, where we were fashionable early.
The cocktail hour offered pretty good dishes, but I had my sites set on the Shirley Temples. As everyone walked in, it still hadn’t hit me that prom was actually a thing. I was at my prom with my own grade and soon we’d be graduating. I started off pretty hopeful during cocktail hour, where I bounced around talking to random people. My hope was crushed when I got in though. The night went by so quickly that looking back at it, it comes in fragments. The dance floor consisted of zombies and a few interesting dance moves. I think my favorite moment was being able to dance while everyone was sitting down eating. A new edition to prom was the photo booth, which I really enjoyed. Most of my friends agreed that prom was and I quote, “wack.”
At the end of the day, did it really matter if you went alone or with Brad because we all ended up on the dance floor sweating off our $50 blowouts or staining our dress shirt from sweat. I did find myself turning soft on the dance floor bouncing to a really outdated song from the 2000s and for a moment everything turned into slow motion. It was at that moment I thought about how quickly things went. I remembered meeting Miranda freshman year because Mr. Francello mistook me for Miranda and we found it funny. She had long hair then and now it was just above her shoulder and she was off to Rutgers. Or how I got so close to Sean in journalism class, where I’m pretty sure he’s seen me cry more than once about college. Now, he’s off to Temple and I don’t know who I’m going to complain to next. I even thought about the people I hadn’t talked to in awhile; either people I grew up with or just people that I’ve lost touch with overtime. Then, the song ended and I found myself outside in the warmth of the June night, and I was really happy, mainly because I realized I was close to leaving. Also, I was finally able to get out of to get out of my heels and into my Birkenstocks.