Prom. It has been the source of countless high school movies, musicals, and tv shows -everything from the horrific Carrie to the overly cheesified Twilight. The stereotypes are endless. The scenarios cliche.
And yet, having chaperoned this antiquated dating ritual for three years in a row now, I must claim there is some validity to it all.
Here, in no certain order, are the various thoughts that surface through my mind in the four hours of dance floor duty, bathroom patrol, and portrait stationing that I endure.
I can’t believe your mother let you out of the store with that dress.
I hope there is a security checkpoint in less than a mile because I’m pretty sure chanting the words “Let’s get effed up” as exiting the Prom is not evidence of responsible behavior.
Oh Lord, bend down any further and we are gonna see that girls cookie.
Please, no freak dancing.
Ohh, the hor’ doeurves this year are legit.
That’s a wedding dress.
Capsleeves. Morman for sure.
How many hours do we have left?
My children are never going to the Prom.
Of course the black kids were the first to hit the dance floor.
No, no now that you’re 18, we cannot go on a date, or dance right now.
Lord have mercy, I need a drink. Oh wait, I’m on the job.
Girl, please don’t lose your V card on the swing set tonight. At least make it to a hotel room.
Why can these 16 year old kids dance better than me? Jealous…
Booze, you lose.
Dang, I wish animal print were in vogue when I was in high school. I’d rock the leopard for sure!
Make wise choices, kids, guard your carnal treasures.
Yea. Prom. A legalized orgy for minors. Bless those kids who really do just awkwardly dance, maybe sneak in a kiss or two, and go to Denny’s afterwards. Bless them.