I went to prom the other week and I wish I hadn't. Yeah, my dress rocked, my boyfriend looked good and most likely I'd have been driving myself crazy wondering what people were saying about me and looking like, had I not been there.
It was SO PREDICTABLE. Cliched, boring girls in ridiculous tans, guys getting drunk in dinner jackets from not-so-stealthily-hidden hip-flasks, teachers fairly tipsy, dancing the night away on the cheap, dusty parquet dance mat (I hesitate to call it a 'floor') to a trashy-sounding array of 'club hits' from the desperately bored, underpaid DJ.
Lukewarm food, the air heavy with expectation and bad perfume as well as crafty joints and fags. The smell of the rain being carried in from the smokers' base, static, prickly carpet under foot.
The worst thing, though? The worst thing is that once again, Year 11 have failed to surpass the shockingly low expectations I set for them; to hell with your preconceived notions, I've known this sorry lot for five years and not once have I been impressed with anything they have dredged up for me.
Call it dissatisfaction with my age group, call it a teenage crisis; but don't call it a surprise. I don't know why I keep so pointlessly flogging this poor dead horse: these people have no imagination. No desire to be anything different than tired, bored and boring; their satisfaction dredged from other people's misfortune.
Case in point: not content with being samey and disinteresting enough at prom, these people had to organise voting for various, rubbishy titles like 'Prom King and Queen'. Of course, it's FAR too bourgeois to take anything seriously nowadays, so the titles that MATTERED ('Best Dressed') were awarded, quite predictably, to the inner circle. King was also taken seriously, as the winner was deemed a good enough all-rounder (physically fit, attractive and popular...with the personality of a spoon) to win an actual award. But prom Queen? Awarded to a, yes, irritating, but not harmfully so, girl in a big, poofy pink dress. The dress was the subject of much...discussion, throughout the course of prom; rich really, considering the source of the discussion issued forth from the overly-made-up mouths of mahogany-skinned girls.
YEAR ELEVEN MANAGED TO SARCASTICALLY VOTE FOR PROM QUEEN.
I am guilty of sarcasm, Christ knows; but how horrible is it that she didn't even know? Not one member of Year Eleven wanted to tell her...most because that would have been the end of the hilarious joke at her expense. I didn't tell her because it isn't in my nature to spread bad news. I complimented her dress sincerely as I could because to be honest, it wasn't half as bad as some of the pretentious, over-stuffed meringues in that godforsaken dining room.
So congratulations, to all of you guys. How wonderful of you, how poignant and touching an ending to five years I never want to repeat. I can't stand the vast majority of you, so I shan't be making polite conversation next year.