I was the happiest girl in the world - who was apparently going to go to the dance barefoot.
Due to my lovely loopy lymphatic system most dressy shoes were not going to work - and then, one day, at the mall, a light shone upon a pair of red satin not-too-high-heels. It was like all the good Karma I spread was coming full circle. I was finally going to get mine. And they were on sale.
Needing a minor repair, I dropped my found footie goodies at a local store which promptly burned to the ground a few hours later.
Karma's apparently a real fickle bitch.
The day before I was to attend Prom I found a pair of stripper shoes at the local discount store that were about four inches too high, platformed and of the worst shade of whore-red I had ever seen. And they were too tight. But I bought them. And I suffered. But lucky for me I actually had one of those sweet boyfriends. The ones who will fetch you food, rub your aching feet while others partied their pants off and who, later, let me sleep on his chest at the after party. Romantic? Yes. Sweet? Yes? Drooled over the ENTIRE front of his sweatshirt? Unfortunately, yes.
So even though I ended up with a cheap dress, a pair of shoes that were meant for Frankenstien's mistress and accidentally tried to drown my pre-fiance in a puddle of my own drool, I still had a great time.
So what happened to Mr. Drool? Alas, he was meant for another - who was meant for several anothers. Just goes to show you that high school is a long way off of who you are, who you're meant to be with and who you are going to be. If someone had pulled me aside that night, pushed a tacky decoration out of the way and said: "In fifteen years you will be happily married, living in a big house, have a mini van and be totally crazy for a thirteen month old baby," - I'd have decked them.
Or at least blinded them with glitter.