My father is a sensible man. He doesn't give me unsolicited advice, he makes gentle suggestions. I'll never forget the time we went to Disney and he had to fish me out of the It's a Small World ride. He put his hands firmly on my shoulders and said, "Honey, I need to know which meds you forgot to pack so we can call your doctor." He has never needed my advice. Until now.
Dad is going to prom. This would be worrisome in some families, but Dad teaches high school, and he volunteered, so it's okay. In fact, I am thrilled that he would ask me for prom fashion advice.
It's not that I want to relive prom. I don't. I would like to forget that my senior prom ever happened. Nothing went right in the days leading up to that magical evening.
Three days before the event, my hairstylist called me to tell me that he had unexpectedly decided that he was gay and would be leaving his wife to live with his lover in Miami. I pleaded Tommy to wait until after prom, but he informed me that his life had been on hold for long enough and nothing, not even my prom could keep him from his dream.
Two days before the event, a bleeding stomach ulcer landed me in the hospital overnight. I was released the next day doped up and dry heaving. On the plus side, I couldn't eat solid foods and therefore achieved the sallow gauntness that made my cheekbones pop and set off my earrings.
The day before the event, my date announced that in order to save money, we would be sharing a hotel room with a few of his buddies. I hung up on him and called my reserve date.
Perhaps the worst moment was arriving to prom in the identical dress as my high school nemesis. My girlfriends clustered around me in a show of support and told me that I pulled the dress off better than she had. She didn't know how to accessorize they assured me. They were right. She was in chunky sandals and was wearing a Wonder Woman-like cuff.
My best accessory was her ex-boyfriend on my arm. He looked great with my shoes.
I hope Dad's prom is better than mine was.