I don’t remember much about prom because at the after party I ate seven cones of cotton candy. I do remember saying, hazily, sometime after three in the morning, “This is one of the best nights of my life,” to which my boyfriend agreed. We then played a board game where we killed each other.
My prom group included my token gay friend, my #squad sister, the straight girl I have a crush on, the straight boyfriend I’m in love with and me (that was probably self-explanatory). We went to this awesome restaurant where the water came in fancy pitchers and we couldn’t pronounce anything on the menu. Because my life revolves around food, I ate twelve pieces of olive bread, half a cheese board, and a piece of broccoli.
Prom itself was kinda lame. School dances never have good music. Like, excuse me? Where’s the Beethoven? Mozart? Schuman? Nada, that’s where. But they did have more food, including these fantastic pudding cups. So it was worth it.
The school-hosted after party, on the other hand, was LIT. They had SO MUCH FOOD. In addition to the aforementioned cotton candy, I ate a bag of cheetos, two garlic knots, seven jolly ranchers and thirty four starbursts. To be completely honest, I’m surprised I can still walk, but according to my friends I did a lot of stuff, like get this caricature drawn of my boyfriend. For some inexplicable reason, I wanted him to be a pirate.
Andrew and I also took this with two of our friends, who I’ve decided to call Fergie and Duhamel. The second picture is everyone pointing signs at me reading “hot mess”. It’s proof that I’m bullied.
Andrew is the one who is noticeably dating me. I’m the one who looks perpetually high. Duhamel is Asian and Mexican. So is Fergie, actually. I think. I can’t really keep track of who’s what race, and in this case it really doesn’t matter because when Fergie and Duhamel get rude looks it’s usually because they’re kissing in public, not because they aren’t white.
“Oh yeah,” Andrew remarked thoughtfully on one occasion. “You’re gay.”
This lead to them making out in the mall parking lot in order to further remind Andrew that they are, in fact, gay.
Fergie and Duhamel are important people in my life because they make me feel like an adult. My boyfriend and I have couple friends we hang out with. Somehow this translates into maturity, even though our activities include things like jumping on a trampoline at midnight and finding speed bumps to drive over. Couple dating also means we’re very invested in each other’s relationships, so Fergie has become mine and Andrew’s relationship counselor. His advice is usually “just talk to Andrew about it”.
After the prom after party, the four of us went to Andrew’s house and did some things I don’t remember while I ate chocolate and then passed out in a sugar coma. So overall, it was a good night.
And now, for my Queer Protagonist opinions: everything about prom is cisheteronormative, from the music to the outfits to the crowning of the king and queen. I don’t care. It’s fun, and even I can’t be angry about everything.
Update: Fergie has informed me that he is not, in fact, Mexican. I’ve told him that he’s lying but he doesn’t believe me.