Tuesday, March 25, 2008

The Prom from Hell

I wasn't going to go to my senior prom. But then, a few weeks before the prom, I started dating Tom (a/k/a "Tom the Prom Date"). Tom seemed really nice at first and I had a lot of fun with him, so I decided to ask him to the prom. Unfortunately, in the ensuing weeks, my feelings for Tom grew less and less amorous and more and more nauseous. But I was committed to going with him (i.e., I had already paid for the tickets), so go I would.

I should have had an idea of the night to come when Tom asked me for a swatch from my dress so he could match his bow tie and cummerbund. I told him that I did not want to be Geranimals at the prom, but he insisted. Unfortunately, I had bought an ugly electric blue dress (hey -- it was the eighties!), so he had an ugly electric blue bow tie and cummerbund.

As the day of the prom approached, I was less and less excited about going. Then - it all started. It's about 3pm on the day of the prom and I get a call from Tom that goes something like this:

Me: Hello?
Him: [My name here]? It's Tom. I'm at the hospital.
Me: What are you doing at the hospital?
Him: I went through a plate glass door at school today and I have a mild concussion and I'm getting 9 stitches in my forehead.

Well, because I am a bad person, I was not worried about Tom, nor saddened by his calamity. I was overcome with joy -- here was my out! I didn't have to go to the prom with Tom the Prom Date anymore! More conversation:

Me: Oh, gee, that's too bad. I guess you won't be able to go to the prom tonight, then...
Him: No! Of COURSE I'm going to go! I wouldn't miss it for the world! I may be a little late picking you up, though. And, because I can't drive, my parents are going to drive us. That's OK, right?
Me: Oh, no, Tom. You're hurt. You need your rest. I totally understand. You should really stay home tonight.
Him: No, I told you I was going to take you to your prom and that's what I'm going to do. Oh -- I've gotta go -- they're ready to put the stitches in -- I'll call you later.

And so it begins. Tom shows up, with his parents in tow, to pick me up. He actually looks pretty good -- except for the BLOODY BAND-AID ON THE MIDDLE OF HIS FOREHEAD! I ask him about it and he says that the laceration may bleed for a while, but not to worry because he has brought an extra supply of band-aids and will be changing the bandage throughout the evening. That certainly made me feel better -- NOT!

We get to the prom which is held at the Franklin Hotel, a very nice hotel in the city. Tom immediately spies the silverware on the dinner tables and mentions he may want to bring some of it home with him. I told him in no uncertain terms that he may not steal silverware from the Franklin Hotel at my prom. What a classless jerk. It gets worse.

At some point during the evening, we are on opposite sides of the rather large dance floor, and he decides that he wants to dance with me. So he YELLS to me -- across the dance floor -- "ANDREA! COME! DANCE!" I calmly walk around the dance floor to where he is, and quietly let him know that if he EVER yells at me across a room like that, I will take one of those knives which he likes so much and use it to cut his [CENSORED] off. This quiets him for a while. But it gets worse still.

Later in the evening, in the corridor outside the ballroom, Tom the Prom Date decides, again, that he wants to dance with me. He asks. I politely decline. He then starts dragging me across the carpeted floor by my wrists. I am sliding on the heels of my shoes, protesting all the way. I tell him, numerous times, that if he does not let go of me, I am going to hit him. He proceeds to drag me. So I finally get one hand free and slap him across the face. He holds his face in surprise and asks, "What was that for?" Idiot.

The best part of all is that, on the car ride home, after I have convinced him I am too tired and he is too sick to go to any after-prom parties, he opens up his jacket pocket and asks me which one I want -- the salt or the pepper shaker from the Franklin Hotel. I guess I wasn't specific enough when I told him not to steal the SILVERWARE.

Of course, this, the most awful, horrible, night of my life is memorialized in the obligatory prom picture sitting in my parents house -- showing me in my ugly electric blue dress, and Tom in his matching Garanimal tux -- with a very bloody band-aid on his forehead.

-- Name Withheld

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