We went to prom.
Well, we went to a charity event that had a photo booth.
And here we are in Napa, last New Year’s Eve, in front of the most glittery wall you have ever seen. We’ve become pretty comfortable with these poses.
I looked up and down, I promise you, but I can’t find any photographic evidence of my prom, my ACTUAL high school prom. But let me paint you a picture. Florida; spring of 2003. Me and my date in a white Chevy Lumina. Thrumming music, gallons of Bath and Body Works body spray. Dinner at Carrabba’s, meeting friends at the beach afterwards. Sand in my black clutch and a dress with so many sparkles that I found them the next day in my armpit.
I’m one of those obnoxious people who really loved high school. I didn’t necessarily always like who I was in high school, but I loved the ritual of it all. My husband didn’t feel the same way (“What? You weren’t living in a Freddy Prinze Jr. movie?”), so it’s always interesting for us to compare. And, you know, relive all of the poses.