Where Have All the Corsages Gone?

My college roomie has come and gone, friends, and she was gracious enough not to bring up the time freshman year when we all took the Purity Test and I got into a fight with my chimp of a boyfriend over it. Then again, the graciousness went both ways because I didn't bring up the time that she broke the heart of the statewide pingpong champion. Oops, except maybe I did bring it up, like right now. Sorry, roomie.

Her graciousness did not stop there! She took Nordic Boy and I out for a lovely dinner and she did not crap her knickers when she saw our ugly yard for the first time. It was very generous on both counts. I took her to see the library (I swear to god it was at her request- I do not drag people who visit me from out of town to the library unless they specifically request it, which- considering the library here, they often do) and we had a lovely time hanging out.

On Saturday afternoon, roomie and I stopped in at the Nordstrom cafe to quench a powerful post-library thirst. As she ordered her drink, the barista asked her what her name was in order to yell it out when the bevvy was served up. And my roomie gave a bogus name! She, who is like me in that she has a non-common name, picked an alias that was short and easy to remember: "Kate." I thought I was the only one who goes undercover when I get coffee and smoothies! That made me happy. Like there's a whole underground movement of us who are "Jen"-ing and "Amy"-ing ourselves to fight the power of mangled first names! Aww yeah! All ya'll out there masquerading as Janes! Can I get a wutwut?

As we sat with our beverages (and it should be noted here that her cup said "Katie" instead of "Kate" so I guess getting names wrong may be an equal opportunity, um, opportunity), we chatted and watched the city go by. We saw, in the span of maybe twenty minutes, a man ride by on a unicycle carrying a brown fur suitcase, another man on a pedal-powered dune-buggy, riding down the street with ads stuck all over his vehicle, two women in identical white vinyl mini-trench coats and heels with spray tanned legs and porn star hair, and more than a few tuxedo'ed and gowned prom goers. And I gotta tell you, the prom goers were the ones that I stared at the hardest.

Prom fascinates me, you guys. Prom! The etymology of this word is "promenade." As in stepping out, walking about, galavanting free. The lore used to be that this event is when many, many people lose their virginity. Is that really true? None of my friends lost their virginity on prom night. None. If anyone out there did lose their crunchberry at prom, will you please let me know? Just one person. They've got to be out there, somewhere.

Part of the reason I am fascinated with prom is because I have never experienced one. That's right, I never went to my prom. I remember when I made the decision to not go to prom and I told my friends, many of them said to me: "but you HAVE to go to your prom! If you don't, you'll regret it for the REST OF YOUR LIFE." And yes, people, I am a shell of a person. I don't know how many times a day I go over and over this mistake that I made. Every time I lose my lipstick, every time a patron is rude to me, every time I can't figure out what to eat for lunch, I think GOD DAMN IT IF I HAD ONLY GONE TO PROM THIS NEVER WOULD HAVE HAPPENED TO ME.

Not only did I not go to my prom, but I never went to any formal dance of any kind when I was in high school. And it was not because I was not getting dates, friends. It was because I was taking a stand. Some people were protesting apartheid in South Africa, some people were trying to save baby seals. My issue was the tyranny of formal dances. I am not even kidding you, this was a topic that would get me CRAZY pissed off in high school. Here was my problem. You were not allowed to go as a single person. Tickets were only sold to couples. I found this compulsory couplehood revolting (still do, as a matter of fact) and so my protest was to vow never to set foot in a formal dance at my school until I could buy my own motherfarking ticket. Fight the power, Librarian Girl! We shall overcome!

So, in the four years I was in high school, I stuck to my guns. When I was asked to go to dances, I would just say NO. Even when it was really tempting and the dude was really cute and I really wanted to make out with him in a hot evening gown (that's me in a hot evening gown, not him), I would turn that opportunity down. I was making a POINT and I was willing to give up smooch time to make it (and honestly, what is more of a valued currency than smooching? NOTHING). And for four years, people didn't make that big of a deal out of it. If I didn't go to Homecoming, or Sadie's, big deal. But when I was a senior and my very own prom was at stake, things started to get ugly. People actually begged me to reconsider, for my own good. I would regret it, they all said, over and over again. And I have to admit, after all the badgering, I started to cave a little bit. I was going to miss my prom! Was it worth it? Didn't I want to get an updo and slow dance to "It Must Have Been Love" by Roxette? Didn't I?

My boyfriend at the time was an older man and there was no way in hell he was going to show up at a high school prom, so that was out of the question. My friend Joe asked me and I seriously considered it. I really did. But, when the time came, I just couldn't do it. I had made a solemn vow for independent souls like me everywhere, and I couldn't go back on my word. Hence, no prom for me.

Oh yes. I rocked it like Norma Rae. Only it wasn't a union thing. And I didn't really change the system or anything. And I don't look anything like Gidget. But other than that, it was totally the same thing.

Kiss the rings, I'm out.
Librarian Girl