Winter, formally.

2005-01-30 at 9:54 a.m.

It was officially...

...boring.

I mean, it was cute to see everyone all dressed up, the girls with their Prom Hair and the boys trying desperately to look cool. And the kids were so excited to be there, so that was cute.

Andrew and I wandered the perimeter of the dance and observed. And then we wandered down one hallway, and then we wandered another one. "I'm sorry, once you've left, you can't come back. Nope, really. Yeah, no, really." And then we wandered down another hallway. And then we wandered back into the dance.

And that was pretty much it. Loooots of time to wander the dance and contemplate which aspect of their wardrobes this generation will look back on and wince, much how I feel about the poofy bubble skirt and the puffy-sleeve sweetheart-neckline princess-waisted monstrosities of my high school era. My leading contenders are: anything that laces up the back or anything with one shoulder strap; but what I think will win is that Prom Hair--the mass of hair that's twisted into fake cornrows before being plastered into some hot-rollered curls and then then spraid with glitter and either pinned in place with fake rhinestony things or fake flowers or fake ribbons or whatever and then lacquered within an inch of its life by eight gallons of hairspray. Prom Hair. Blecch.

All in all, the kids were pretty well behaved. I made a game of Duck, Duck, Goose (translation for Minnesotans: Duck Duck Grey Duck) move to a less crowded area of the dance and they had to skip instead of run (trying to cut down on Duck Duck Goose related injuries). And I got some boys in trouble for taking the mirror off their table and sliding it under girls' skirts.

Oh, that?

So as Andrew and I were wandering the floor, he froze, like a hunting dog, his gaze locked in another direction. Then he began relentlessy easing toward the table, dragging me with him. I couldn't see what he saw until the boys at the table caught his looming presence out of the corner of their eyes and sheepishly picked up the mirror and put it on the table. We drifted away, but I kept checking the table out, because seriously, EW. Kind of funny, really, and I'm surprised only one table figured out that the mirrored centerpiece could be used in this manner, but at the same time... at the same time, I have to wonder. When I was in high school, if someon had done that to me without me knowing it, I would have been devastated. But if I'd known what they were doing, would I have played the game? I'm sure some would have, but does it matter?

Anyway, I mentioned the matter to the Vice Principal in charge of discipline and he headed straight there and got the name of one boy involved in it, who shot me death looks the rest of the night.

That was about the only excitement from the night. The chaperones couldn't spend much time with each other, we weren't really well briefed on what to look out for, the security was pathetic, and to be honest? I just wanted to dance. Because for the most part, the songs were the same. Take your "Footloose", take your "Sweet Home Alabama", take your anything-by-Michael Jackson, take your "You Shook Me All Night Long", and slot in some "Hey-Ya" and "Hot in Herre" and you have the new formal.

That, and mirrors.

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