get in the limo: EVEN IF IT'S A STRUGGLE!

if you've laughed along with leah of struggle sews a straight seam as much as i have, you know her creative process can be... strugglesome.  her entrance into the limo was no different.  peeps, she got straight into the trunk.  i have no idea why.  i invite you to use those great big beautiful brains of yours and envision this pictureless post!  ooh, it's like a radio tale....

I just spent ten minutes scouring for photos and of course I have not a one. Sigh. Life is the worst sometimes....

Okay, so here is my story. Given that I'm at the back of the limo I feel like I should discuss AFTERprom, but I promise to keep it clean....

My prom wasn't exactly the fulfillment of all my deepest childhood fantasies, but it wasn't the worst thing ever, either. I went with a good friend of mine from Latin class (because cool kids take latin. Arms and the man and all that. Trust me on this one. Cool kids can decline and talk about pluperfect and all that mess because once you get past the grammar and the Vatican jokes you get to read Catullus and Catullus is awesome and dirty and hilarious. Cool kids study latin. Tell your friends. And at least I'm prepared if I'm ever transported back in time to the Roman empire, which is more then most people can say....). Anyway, my prom date, let's call him Claudius (because, well, Latin), was a friend who had literally no interest in me romantically, but that didn't matter, I still wore an awesome dress. I did not make said dress, because I didn't sew then, but I bought it from a boutique and it was like that dress Marilyn Monroe wore in The Seven Year Itch but in red. RED. I was one daring 17 year old...

So anyway, in my dress (would that I had a photo!) and my corsage (white, because it goes with everything, and before you ask he was a perfect gentleman and called me up to ask the color of the dress because he was raised correctly, well done Claudius), I was pretty hot, if I do say so myself. Much good it did me. I got less action on prom then a movie theater that only screens adaptations of Nicholas Sparks novels. But that was okay, our prom was in a nice hotel, I whirled around alone on the dance floor with my red dress and my hair all done up (I got to go to a hair dresser! What? Yes, and I got a manicure and a pedicure, my mom sure went all out for something she thought, and still thinks, is awfully silly). So if it wasn't MAGICAL then at least it was fun enough.

And then came the after prom. I had heard a lot about after prom from my older brother. I expected a night of debauchery, delights, and even maybe someone getting handsie. Yeah. None of that happens...we did the afterprom party at a a hotel down in Atlantic City. Claudius had, by this point, disappeared, he wasn't much of a partier. Neither was I, really, but this was a chance to cut lose, go nuts, do shots of something sweet and make some bad decisions! Yeah, not going to happen. For one thing, the hotel didn't have heating. And it was April. In New Jersey. It wasn't warm by any stretch of the imagination. I spent the evening wandering around in search of something decent to drink (even then I didn't drink beer) and someone interesting to talk to. Neither ever surfaced, and I huddled in one of the rooms we had paid a small fortune for, wishing I had brought more layers. Prom movies really don't prepare you very well for reality, now, do they?

Still, I went, I saw, and if I didn't exactly conquer then at least I didn't do anything really dumb. And I looked AWESOME. But you will just have to trust me on that one. 

i DO trust you, miss struggle, and if y'all need evidence, i present to you exhibits A, B, and C.  what about you? did you sacrifice comfort for fashion at your big teen night?  FASHION HURTS, Y'ALL!


we've got a loooooong way to go to pick up our next lovely lady... in fact i'm gonna hop up front and navigate. see you in the morning!