Return to Prom Night...

It’s that time of year again. Prom time. And all that comes with it. Last year my son opted not to attend, but made a pact with his gal pal that this year, as seniors, they would go. I’m no prom virgin. I’d been through this last year with the two girls. But whereas girls approach prom with serious appearance anxiety issues and over-the-top angst, boys have a totally laid back attitude about this big night. So much so that my son put off getting his tux until this week--and the prom is two Saturdays from now. Nothing like planning ahead.

“So, did you order the flowers?” I asked when my son came home from finally ordering his tux.

“Flowers?” he asked and I nodded.

“You know. Her corsage. Your boutonniere.”

“She doesn’t want flowers,” he said and I frowned.

“No flowers?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“How about a wrist corsage?” I suggested and it was his turn to make a face.

“Too eighties,” he said and I raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, you weren’t here in the eighties,” I reminded him. “How do you know?”

“Sheri mentioned it.” (Gal pal’s mom)

“I see,” I said. “Did she also mention you’ll look like a total cheapskate if you don’t spring for flowers?” I asked.

He shrugged.

“Less is more,” he said.

Right.

“What about the dancing?” I asked, expressing my concern about his readiness to trip the light fantastic. You see, we’re a little--challenged--in the ballroom dance department in my family. It’s safe to say none of us will ever receive an invite to Dancing with the Stars. Unless we’re folding chairs up and sweeping the floors after everyone goes home. "You ready for a few pointers in dance department?” I asked him and my son gave me a ‘get real’ look. “I got some pretty swift moves,” I added.

He suddenly looked like Jamie Lee Curtis in the original Prom Night.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, performing some of my best moves across the living room floor—or what had passed as my best moves, say, twenty years ago. “So what you do think?” I asked, somewhat breathless from my exertions.

“I think you look like you just broke a hip and are attempting to walk anyway,” he said.

Gak. Nice visual.

“I’ll have you know that a physical therapist I went to once told me I had a dancer’s legs,” I informed him.

“Well, you better give ‘em back,” number two son said.

“In a past life I could have been a dancer,” I told him.

“Yeah. Dancer as in a deer-like animal with two left feet,” the smart mouth responded.

I took hold of his shirt.

“I don’t think you quite understand the gravity of the situation,” I said. “How one unrestrained moment, one lapse by an overly zealous mother can spoil what is meant to be a magical moment for all eternity,” I explained. “And turn your prom night into---well, Prom Night,” I pointed out.

He gave me an uneasy look.

“Maybe I could use a dance lesson or two,” he conceded and I smiled.

“That’s my boy,” I said. “Now about those flowers,” I tried and he cut me off.

“Don’t push your luck, Mom,” he said.

Who? Me?

So, any of you have prom night memories or horror stories to tell? What do you remember most about yours or a family member’s prom experience? What would you most like to forget?

~Bullet Hole Bacus~