I wanna talk about me: High School Prom Edition

And so we come, dear readers, to the extremely awkward, slightly embarrassing phase of my life: high school.

I have a lot of really fun memories from my high school days.

Sadly, my junior prom was not one of them.

The boy who asked me was a casual friend, and not necessarily someone I was looking to begin a romance with. He seemed nice, and, honestly, I was just plain happy to be going to prom with anyone.

About a week before prom, he invited me to go limo shopping. Score, thought my inexperienced 16-year-old self. A limo! I could hardly wait.

The night of prom arrived. I happily scrunched, moussed, and curled my permy hair. I slipped into my peach Jessica McClintock and pulled on my white tights (with sparkly gems going up the back leg - remember those?). Oh, I was hot stuff. And this Cinderella was ready for the ball.

When the doorbell rang, my heart sank slightly when I looked out and saw that my carriage to the ball looked like this:

My date explained away the absence of a limo with a very implausible, very lengthy story involving lawsuits and limo drivers, none of which made any sense to me. Still, I was hoping to have a good time, and was determined not to let it get me down.

This optimistic feeling lasted all of 6.4 seconds. I watched in horror as he pulled my corsage out of the box and slipped it onto my wrist. It was plastic.

Yes, Mr. Classy got me a corsage with fake flowers.

We doubled with another couple who were making out like crazy before we even got to the restaurant. Dinner consisted of the following: A food fight, spilling of drinks, attempted groping, yelling at the waiter, burping contests, and nose picking (no, Daniel, not by me).

Once we arrived at the dance, I found every excuse to meet my girlfriends in the bathroom for commiseration and lamenting. And being the solid pack of teenage girls that we were, they all happily ignored their dates to comfort me in the ladies room for the bulk of our time there.

And to add another touch of class to the ultra-tacky situation, the fake flowers began to fall off my corsage. Everywhere I went, there was a trail of cheap plastic flowers behind me.

Finally, the dance ended and it was time to go home. My date thought he had earned some post-prom smooching and proceeded to drive to a scenic lookout. The other couple with us was completely horizontal in the backseat.

And at this point, I was having none of that.

I mean, hello? In those days, I needed AT LEAST a real corsage to make out with someone I didn't really like.

So, I told him I wanted to go home. Clearly mad and disappointed, he slammed the car into gear, drove 90 miles an hour, and practically threw me onto the curb at my house.

I slammed the front door behind me, threw the remaining corsage into the trash, and started sobbing. What I had hoped to be a promising night full of memories, turned out to be a disaster.

Lucky for me, my love life has vastly improved since then. True, I may have had to kiss a few frogs along the way (or not kiss them, and totally tick them off), but I did find my prince in the end. And the Husband does not promise limos when he can't deliver, bring plastic corsages, or try to grope me on the dance floor.

(He only tries that at home.)