puffed

15 Jun

We always talk about people who are puffed up. You know the kind–proud, egotistical, narcissistic. They complain about their problems without listening to those of others. At prom, it’s kind of what you’re SUPPOSED to be. You’re supposed to show up with glitz and glam in a limo you shouldn’t have spent so much on; you’re supposed to reveal all too much with all too little fabric; you’re supposed to showcase your trophy date to the world.
Well. We did. We showed up at Ubergay’s place and ran from the rain into the heat of the crowd. My dad stayed for about five or ten minutes to take pictures of my date and I desperately trying not to look stupid while putting on the corsage and boutonniere. It was humid and sticky. That was my excuse for not wearing the little black jacket I’d brought. Looking back at the pictures, I definitely should have covered up a bit more. And my dress was too puffy. Oh well. I was too caught up in the spectacle to notice.

We rode in a limo with two other couples we knew a little bit. Redhead brought sparkling cider to share, since they breathylize at Prom. The rain dampened our mood.

At prom, I liked my date pretty well. I mean, I wouldn’t say I have a crush or anything, but  I had a great time chatting with him and dancing with him. He held me close and that drives me wild. I knew that it was leading up to a kiss at the end of the night… until in the limo ride back, he didn’t put his arm around me or anything. Nothing.
He left the afterparty before it really started. No kiss, no romantic parting, just a quick hug and an insincere “Ihadagreattime.” Such a shame. I mean, I definitely would have kissed him. But if we were to hang out now that prom’s over, I probably wouldn’t. But then, kissing at prom is tradition. It’s expected. It’s part of the glitz and glam.
Despite the let-down, after-prom was a blast. The first three or four hours was just me chilling with friends who progressively got drunker and, consequently, funnier and dumber. They got wasted out of their minds–so wasted that my friend Bambi/Mutton hooked up (and more) with my friend Goldfish… even though he wasn’t her prom date. His date cried for hours, but I hear she always cries when she gets drunk.
I got lots of “You’re my favorite Mormon” and “I was going to kiss you on the mouth, but then I decided not to because auuuuugh mormonnnnn” (from a girl who made out with another girl like six times… both have boyfriends). I was surprised to learn that even when completely out of it, my friends all remembered that I was mormon. I guess it’s that much a part of my identity to them. For example, Bambi kept starting to offer me a drink and then apologizing profusely for offering a drink to a mormon. As if I cared.
The afterparty was at Goldfish’s house, which is a minute from mine. I left at five in the morning after babysitting the drunkards all night (even the mom fell off her couch because she was drunk when we all arrived), showered, and went to volunteer all day at the special olympics–covering for a friend. Immediately after that, the group of volunteers from my church went to a dance. I didn’t get home till nine and I hadn’t gotten any sleep except an hour on the bus. The dance was perfect. It was tiny, because nobody showed up, but I still had fun because I chose to.
While we were slow dancing, my friend The Wrestler asked me about prom. He asked, “So I’m hotter than your date, right?” Who actually asks that?! I said I wouldn’t answer that question. But he persisted, and I do find him attractive, so eventually I just said yes. After that, he held me closer and started twirling me and spinning me around. We ended up waltzing. He was impressed that I knew how to waltz. I hate talking to him… he is so charming that I always start to like him afterwards. But he’s just a flirt, which confuses and frustrates me immensely.
The next day at church, I sang a duet. It didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. It was the first time I’d had the courage to sing in front of the congregation. This failure began my melancholy mood. By the end of the day, I couldn’t get the negative thoughts out of my head. Insults stung my brain and stuck to it. Words and phrases as sharp as knives spun circles around my consciousness’ positive defenses. But the attack came from all angles–
You can’t sing
Your dress was too puffy. You didn’t fit in with the rest of them
You won’t make any friends in college, because you couldn’t make friends here
You can’t even land a kiss at prom
You feel sorry for yourself when you don’t even know what suffering means. Have you even seen what other people go through on a daily basis? What about the victims of the Newtown tragedy, so close to your own home? What about those who can’t find the money to feed their worm-infected families? What about just about anyone except yourself? Do you even care about anyone else? How dare you cry when you have no cause other than a bit of well-deserved rejection.
So I gave in. I cried and cried until my eyes were red and puffed.
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