I was already drunk by the time I arrived at my senior prom, a rather imprudent move that was highlighted by a prom videotape that shows me spending about twenty minutes breathing wine on my French teacher as I told her how much I loooooooooooved the language. It was just the first of many gaffes in a night that, perhaps fortunately, I don't actually remember too much about. I know that my date and I were each other's last resort and that he spent the entire night sitting at a table, basically not talking. I know that a bunch of us had a hotel room and champagne was involved, although sex wasn't. And I know that at the faculty-staffed after-prom breakfast I nearly became the stuff of legends when my safety-pinned skirt came undone and nearly wound up around my ankles.

Fortunately, there were no such moments at the first ever Wallace House prom. Instead, there was an awesome spread -- partly mined from graduation leftovers but also including the Zingerman's hummingbird cake I dream about (thanks Drew & Sally.) The place was decked out in candlelight and silver decorations and never looked so homey or beautiful. Furniture was cleared out to make for a dance floor we all took to, reluctantly or not, at some point in the evening.

The soundtrack was Kim's iPod, the result of hours of collecting our favorite (and often cheesiest) tunes from the 80s and 90s. And everyone showed up in their best dresses and in good moods, pushing aside the impending melancholy we're all struggling with. (Vindu, Vickie and Thomas were our MIA's, the former two out of town and Thomas, unfortunately, sick.)

Tremendous fun was had. Chris danced with me more that night than in our eight years together combined. I finally knew what it was like to be at the prom, madly in love with my handsome date, and feeling like I belonged there, among real friends and people I truly love. It beats that 1988 hotel ballroom affair any day. Some more pics:

Me and my handsome prom date.