by J. Paxton

Created on: December 13, 2008

Every little girl plans out two moments of her life down to every last detail: her wedding day and her prom night. I always knew I would have an off the shoulder, forest green dress, preferably velvet. (In retrospect, I'm not sure if I thought prom was a fancy Christmas party or what.) My date would be tall, dark and handsome (obviously), and my corsage would be a deep red rose. I had three chances at prom; none of them went quite like my dreams.

The first was in the spring of my junior year. My high school crush asked me (over instant messenger, would probably should've been my first hint at what our eventual relationship would be like), and it seemed like my little girl dreams were well on their way to coming true. I quickly came to realize that the dress of my fantasies a) did not exist and b) would not work on my gangly, flat body. I grew increasingly anxious as the night drew nearer and I had nothing to wear. I eventually found a empire waisted, slim fitting gown-for only $10! What luck! (What naivety...) As my date and I pulled out of my driveway that night, as soon as I turned around to buckle myself, the strap to my dress completely snapped. Mortified, I ran back into my house holding it up. My mother managed a quick fix with some safety pins-which are clearly visible in my prom pictures if you look at them today.

Round two came about a month later, when the seniors were preparing for their night of romance. (Now, try and follow.) My crush (who had not manned up enough yet to admit that he liked me) was going with his neighbor who had asked him, much to my dismay. My best friend was asked by the guy she was secretly in love with....30 minutes too late, leaving a voice mail after she had already accepted an invited to go with an old family friend who's original date had left him in the cold. Which led to my being asked two days before the dance. I was excited (as I love pretty much any excuse to get dressed up and dance), and that enthusiasm couldn't even be quelled when he hastily explained that I was just a backup: "well, actually, you weren't even my first backup, you were my SECOND because Jenny couldn't go-". I asked him to just please stop talking.

My mother, bless her heart, was determined that I wouldn't have another wardrobe malfunction. That afternoon, she came home with a dress she found that had actually cost more than a meal for two at McDonald's. It was big, puffy, and pink. My mom was convinced I was the most beautiful thing ever. I was convinced

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