The Pot and The Kettle

ok, i will now have to contradict a highly principled truth of mine, or at least what I stubbornly held as a truth: that popularity doesn't really matter. I was wrong. So very....very wrong. Life is fucking great if you are popular. And I am kicking myself for buying into it.
How did I come to this serendipitous, yet paradoxical, epiphany? A little thing known as the Senior Prom!!!

I should further confess, however, that as an educator, there are many days at school, where my main motivation for being there and doing the things I do, is solely to try and correct the disaster that was known as The Kettle: The High School Years. I think it is an entirely fair comparison to say I was Brian Krakow, from My So-Called Life, except I went to an all-boys high school and Brian Krakow probably spoke even more than I did in high school. So I surprisingly have been doing well in my quest "to put right what once went wrong" (Quantum Leap, anyone?), and we can now cross off my list of regrets Senior Prom 1995. Two highlights from my actual prom: my reluctant date and I sat at the table of rejects, those who never found a spot at any other table, so the 6 of us sat at one half of some table... and my date had an older brother who was friends with one of the younger teachers/chaperones, who was a huge tool, but she and I spent approximately 65% of the prom only talking to him.

Anyway, what made my recent prom so fun? Well for starters, I was able to sit at a complete table, go figure, and all the tool chaperones were at another table, so I didn't have to talk to them all night. Moreover, Ms. K (half-Korean, Math teach, buxom) was a spectacularly fun date, and she and I battled Ms. N (short, English teach) and Mr. Sheff (disheveled, oddly rosey-cheeked, Spanish teach) and Ms. SJ (vampy dance teach) and Mr. S (smarmy Athletic D) for the unofficial prom king and queen. We won hands down. All of us had an odd little dance party going on, where we never actually made it to the dance floor, because that would have been weird, but instead, we busted out in the free space around our delinquent chaperone table. Trust me when I say, it really wasn't that weird. Frontloading on champagne helped, too!

Rest assured, the night did NOT end with any de-virginating. Ms. K and I were without a strap-on...Kidding! Who wrote that???

So, that was my shining night of glitz and glamour and semi-popularity. And at midnight I turned back into a pumpkin.