Okay– Big T, is, after all, going to the prom.
This is big news. Why? Because some bizarre y-chromosome thing kicked into place during this whole experience, and it was a near thing.
Want proof?
Moment the first: The psyche out. Big T has an Object Of Affection– we’ll call her Ooa. Anyway, T wanted to ask Ooa to the prom, but wasn’t sure if she was receptive, so he simply brought it up in conversation.
Big T–“So, I was thinking about prom. Are you going to prom?”
Ooa– “I don’t know yet, why?”
Big T– “Well, I was thinking about going to Iron Man II–I think it’s the same night.”
Yes. Yes. You all read that right. Everyone with two x chromosomes is losing her nut. Hell–every man who ever made it out on a date is going crazy. We all know what he should said then, right? The answer is obvious–she left it wide open! Did he walk through that door?
No.
Moment the second: He asked her on the internet. My Space or some shit like that.
As his mother, the romance writer? A little part of me died that day, and that’s all I’ve got for you. I’m shaking my head.
Moment the third: He almost had a coronary getting measured for his tux. Granted, I did too, but that’s because I saw the bill. He had one because a pretty girl who stood 5’5″ at the most had to squash her body up against his back to measure his shoulders. I’ve never seen anyone look more like he was going to choke on his own tongue in my life. Then that pretty girl and his mother ganged up on him and told him to please (for the love of God!) get the larger tux pants. They’re supposed to drape. Really. Trust us on this.
So there you go– proof that this whole prom thing is as rough on the boys as it is on the girls, but at last, we had some triumph.
“Did you finally ask her? Did she say yes?”
“She said she was already going with friends. She asked me if I wanted to come with them.”
sssqqquuuuueeeeeeeeeee! huzzah! There’s hope! I MIGHT be a grandmother some time in the (far far far distant) future, and that kid MAY move out of the house.
I’m so happy. And I don’t even have to buy a dress.
He'll get it figured out. It may take him 20 or 30 years, but it will happen.
D'oh! I suppose she couldn't make it too easy on him after he mucked up that lovely opening she gave him.
Do they still wear corsages? Does he have any idea if he should get her one? Maybe a wrist corsage . . . goes with any neckline and avoids all the awkward pinnning-it-on stuff. And if he can bring himself to ask her what color her dress is, he can match the corsage to it.
Oooa sounds like a nice girl, and infinitely patient with the dear lad.
Good thing the young lady in the tux shop didn't measure his inseam. He'd have to lock himself in the bathroom for the next week.
Aw, Yeay for Big T! I hope he has a great night at Prom!