Recognize that line? It's from the musical "Camelot". That was our school musical my freshman year of high school. I played a nymph. Of course, 14-year-old I was, I thought it would be funny to say "nympho."
But I digress.
Queen Guenevere was actually singing about the May Day celebrations, but if she were around today, I'm sure you could apply it to prom rituals, too. ("It's May! It's May! The month of 'Yes you may.' When every maiden prays that her lad, will be a cad!")
As I'm sure you've figured out by now, it's Prom Week here at Fictionistas. I'd planned to play along and scan in a prom pic or two, so you could see me in my long slinky black lace number (junior year) or short tight midnight blue strapless sequin sheath (senior year). I was a dancer back then, so it was a good 30+ pounds ago...I looked pretty darn hot.
But when I called my mom a couple of weeks ago to ask her to send me my prom pics, I discovered that, alas, they are no more. My parents threw them away in a fit of cleaning, convinced that if I'd really wanted them, I would have taken them years ago. Oh, and that Mr. Brice wouldn't want to see pictures of me with some other random guys.
So since I have no pictures to share, I guess I'll just relate a funny prom story. And yes, this is true.
I'm a nailbiter. I always have been, ever since I was a little girl. It's stress-related (yes, my nails are a complete disaster at the moment), so occasionally I will actually have nice nails, but that never lasts long.
Anyway, my junior year of high school, I decided I wanted long, pretty nails for the prom. But my mom wouldn't let me get acrylics, because she was afraid I might forget and try to bite them off, breaking my teeth in the process. So I had to settle for DIY fake nails and a tube of nail glue.
I have to admit, they actually looked pretty good. Unless you stared really closely, you couldn't tell that they were press-ons.
So I get to the dance, and I'm having a great time, even though I took a random friend as my date. (He's a nice guy though.) Anyway, this was the era of grunge music, so some of the guys in my class decided it would be fun to have a mosh pit as a somewhat memorial to their idol Kurt Cobain, who'd committed suicide about a month earlier.
So I'm trying to get out of the way of the mosh pit (which was broken up almost as quickly as it started, btw), when all of a sudden I realize I've lost a nail. I get down on my knees to search for it, like some people search for a missing contact lens.
I found it right away, but there was no way I was going to go through the rest of the prom missing one hooker-red nail. Absolutely not. Fortunately, I'd thought to bring my little tube of nail glue along in my evening bag.
So I trot off to the table we'd sat at during dinner, whip out my nail glue, and super classy girl I am, decide to do surgery on my nail right there inside the dance.
Just a drop of glue, position the fake nail on top of the real nail, press real tight...Voila!
Wrong. Somehow I managed to glue my fingers together! Yes, this stuff only happens to me, I know.
I scooped up my evening bag with my elbows (well, my hands were stuck together, so I had no choice), marched onto the dance floor, found one of my girlfriends, and convinced her to come with me to the bathroom. (It took her about five minutes to stop laughing before she would come along.)
We tried running my hands under hot water. I guess we hoped that the heat would break the bonds of the glue or something. (Did I mention chemistry was never my strongest subject?) Nothing.
Eventually she had to find a chaperone, who fortunately was able to help. I don't even remember how she got my fingers unstuck, but as far as I was concerned, she was my new favorite teacher.
So, anyone else ever have something stupid like that happen at a prom?