Writing > Therapy

More writing. I did this during a free 7th period... and during a fit of frustration at my peers. Enjoy.

Prom.
One word.
One night.
But oh, the agony.
Nothing, nothing, instantly vaporizes the brains of hormonal teenage girls everywhere--like prom. And the fact that I go to an upper-middle class private school doesn't help the situation much. Essentially, nothing ever happens to these people. They skip first period and go to Starbucks instead, and then they feel bad ass for a week. We don't have world travelers here, we have Thursday-night teenybopper party-ers whose vernacular probably doesn't include the word vernacular. So it comes as no surprise to me that when a dance is held--gasp--an hour away and--faint--on a boat, the girls nearly forget to use two forms of the word "f***ing" to describe how ugly their friends' dresses are behind their backs or neglect to show even one of their unwilling classmates photos of all three of their prom dress options.
I say nearly.
What kills me is that I can see how exciting this occasion must be for them. A typical teenage female will spend the entire year WAITING for someone to ask her about herself--just so that she can feel as though she really is the expert on something the rest of the population is interested in. But here is this opportunity: this shining chance for them to unashamedly gab about the exorbitant amounts of money their parents are paying for a night of loud, loud slut-songs and a show of their class acting as though civility will have to pause for a moment as this generation makes its mark on history. But let me tell you ladies, the rest of us? We don't care where you are going to get colored and glitterized plastic super-glued to your fingers. Your shoes don't hold us captivated with awe at your glory. A limo is just a very, very long taxi. And we certainly don't need to hear the story of how "omg, the very first dress I tried on was just--THE ONE! I knew it right when I gazed, lovingly, at my reflection in the mirror at Macy's--I said it right then, "'I am done, THIS IS IT! MY PROM DRESS! AAAAAHHH!"'
Save it for facebook people, as for me, I don't want to hear about prom until I get to laugh at humiliating pictures of my peers on Sunday. ...what can I say? Prom IS good for something.