Promise Me

Prom is a promise. It's a promise from the boy to dress nice, act like a gentleman, and tell his date she looks beautiful. It's a promise from the girl to not abandon her date, to forgive any stepping on toes, and to not complain incessantly about random stuff that doesn't even matter. Mostly, it's a mutual promise to make sure the date and yourself have as much fun as possible, without going overboard.

I'm not sure I fulfilled that promise, but I did try. My date was a little fireball of Asian fury, decked out in a silky blue vest and striped tie. Things he is passionate about include bugs, being smart, college, and Latin. Notice how none of these include dancing. However, I did get him to dance for the majority of Prom, and he seemed to have a good time. (he rated the whole thing 9.5 out of ten, with points off because his feet hurt.)

People asked me why I wanted to go with him. The answer is to have a good time, obviously. He didn't stress me out or make me feel self-conscious. And he ended up being a perfect gentleman; when I was cold, he gave me an arm or a jacket, and he steadied me when I couldn't walk in my heels. He also gave me a butterfly to pin to my corsage, which was a nice touch that I didn't expect. (the butterfly was later destroyed when I accidentally brushed my wrist against his arm. Oh well.)

The butterfly, blisters, cookies, hairstyles, and throbbing eardrums didn't survive prom. But the spirit of the promise does, and that's what the point was anyway.