{"id":76,"date":"2008-06-03T15:22:00","date_gmt":"2008-06-03T15:22:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/moavenz.com\/blog\/?p=76"},"modified":"2008-06-03T15:22:00","modified_gmt":"2008-06-03T15:22:00","slug":"what-the-heck-ill-play","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/moavenz.com\/blog\/?p=76","title":{"rendered":"What the heck&#8230; I&#8217;ll play"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>We&#8217;ll, <a href=\"http:\/\/www.iambossy.com\/i_am_bossy\/2008\/06\/ten-word-tuesda.html\">ev<\/a>e<a href=\"http:\/\/jugglinglife.typepad.com\/juggling_life\/2008\/06\/as-promised-prom-pictures.html\">ry<\/a>bod<a href=\"http:\/\/fromthefrontlines.blogspot.com\/2008\/06\/senior-prom.html\">y<\/a>&#8216;<a href=\"http:\/\/foolery.typepad.com\/foolery\/2008\/06\/off-like-a-prom-dress-well-no.html\">s<\/a> all in &#8220;prom mode&#8221;, so when <a href=\"http:\/\/mommysmartini.blogspot.com\/\">Mommy&#8217;s Martini<\/a> launched the <a href=\"http:\/\/mommysmartini.blogspot.com\/2008\/06\/good-bad-and-prom-y.html\">prom carnival<\/a>, I figured &#8220;What the heck, I&#8217;ll play.&#8221;  Only because this is one of my all-time favorite memories, AND it&#8217;s not like I have 15 things I REALLY SHOULD be doing instead!  \ud83d\ude42<\/p>\n<p>So, we moved to Alabama the summer before my Junior year (Army brat), and shortly after school started, I managed to luck into dating him:<a onblur=\"try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}\" href=\"http:\/\/bp0.blogger.com\/_Pnab2ZvhnEE\/SEVtH1dW9TI\/AAAAAAAAAj0\/XPrXMIy1_VA\/s1600-h\/yummy.jpg\"><img decoding=\"async\" style=\"margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;\" src=\"http:\/\/bp0.blogger.com\/_Pnab2ZvhnEE\/SEVtH1dW9TI\/AAAAAAAAAj0\/XPrXMIy1_VA\/s320\/yummy.jpg\" alt=\"\" id=\"BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207688525500577074\" border=\"0\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<div style=\"text-align: center;\"><span style=\"font-size:85%;\">(shameless plug for gorgeous boyfriend)<\/span><\/div>\n<p>But, by the end of that year we were no more, because I was all ego <span style=\"font-style: italic;\">this<\/span> and &#8220;you don&#8217;t own me&#8221; <span style=\"font-style: italic;\">that<\/span>.  Which is a real shame, because I truly loved him.   Senior year was rocky, and we were on-again-off-again many times (due to my early-onset menopause), but when it came time for the Junior-Senior Prom, there was only one person I would go with &#8211; him.  Senior Prom was just too special to me to be spent with anyone else.  If the story ended there, it would have been the perfect romantic, fun-filled, best ever time I had in high school.  But it was even better.<\/p>\n<p>You see, my sister had a boyfriend, a true love, also.  He was from somewhere up north, because, while the folks around him were like &#8220;Hey y&#8217;all&#8221;, he was &#8220;youse guys&#8221; every other sentence.  They were both sophomores (read: banned from the Prom), which would have been meaningless, if it weren&#8217;t for the fact that my family was moving to Pennsylvania that summer [which, for those of you geographically- challenged, is VERY far away from Alabama. The down-side of being an Army brat].  I can&#8217;t remember exactly how it happened, but I&#8217;m sure there were tears involved, which any little sister knows is the FASTEST way to a big sister&#8217;s heart.  I talked it over with &#8220;him&#8221;, and we came up with a brilliant idea: &#8220;he&#8221; would take my sister to the Prom as his date, and I would take my sister&#8217;s boyfriend as mine.  After separate romantic dinners (I still get wistful when I see a Red Lobster), we met up outside of Prom, and &#8220;switched&#8221; partners.  The site of &#8220;him&#8221; entering the Prom with my sister, raised a few eyebrows (small town), but they signed in and went on through to find a table.  When her boyfriend and I waltzed in a few minutes later, everyone knew what was up, and most folks didn&#8217;t like it.  We each danced with our &#8220;official dates&#8221; for the first dance, then played switch-eroo for the rest of the evening.  Chaperones kept periodically coming up to us to ask who our date was, and we&#8217;ve have to stop dancing and point them out across the room.  Folks were furious, some schoolmates too, but the four of us had one amazing evening!<br \/><a onblur=\"try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}\" href=\"http:\/\/bp0.blogger.com\/_Pnab2ZvhnEE\/SEVtjts3HEI\/AAAAAAAAAkE\/NjAcQ8y1_SQ\/s1600-h\/prom.jpg\"><img decoding=\"async\" style=\"margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;\" src=\"http:\/\/bp0.blogger.com\/_Pnab2ZvhnEE\/SEVtjts3HEI\/AAAAAAAAAkE\/NjAcQ8y1_SQ\/s400\/prom.jpg\" alt=\"\" id=\"BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207689004454452290\" border=\"0\" \/><\/a>(My sister&#8217;s the gorgeous one in the green dress, with the perfect hair and the &#8220;professionally&#8221; applied makeup, who was a tomboy that somehow always managed to look picture-perfect.  I am the one with the perm-gone-awry-80&#8217;s-do, AND the gorgeous date!)<\/p>\n<p><u>Official Prom P.S.<\/u><br \/>Guess what I just found while looking for my Air Force photo?  Junior-Senior Prom (literally, she was a junior, he a senior) the very next year.   Recognize the dress?!!  Hands-down looks better on little sis, though she did opt for the sensible heels this time.   And how can you tell it was still the 80&#8217;s?!   &#8230;more hair than face!<a onblur=\"try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}\" href=\"http:\/\/bp2.blogger.com\/_Pnab2ZvhnEE\/SEghb7u9p5I\/AAAAAAAAAkc\/27UN6mFIEsc\/s1600-h\/promII.jpg\"><img decoding=\"async\" style=\"margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;\" src=\"http:\/\/bp2.blogger.com\/_Pnab2ZvhnEE\/SEghb7u9p5I\/AAAAAAAAAkc\/27UN6mFIEsc\/s320\/promII.jpg\" alt=\"\" id=\"BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208449732828833682\" border=\"0\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<div class=\"addtoany_share_save_container\"><div class=\"a2a_kit addtoany_list\"><a class=\"a2a_dd addtoany_share_save\" href=\"http:\/\/www.addtoany.com\/share_save\"><img src=\"http:\/\/moavenz.com\/blog\/wp-content\/plugins\/add-to-any\/share_save_171_16.png\" width=\"171\" height=\"16\" alt=\"Share\"\/><\/a><\/div>\n<script type=\"text\/javascript\"><!--\nvar a2a_config = a2a_config || {};\na2a_config.linkname=\"What the heck&#8230; I&#8217;ll play\";\na2a_config.linkurl=\"http:\/\/moavenz.com\/blog\/?p=76\";\n\/\/--><\/script><script type=\"text\/javascript\" src=\"http:\/\/static.addtoany.com\/menu\/page.js\"><\/script>\n\n<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>We&#8217;ll, everybody&#8216;s all in &#8220;prom mode&#8221;, so when Mommy&#8217;s Martini launched the prom carnival, I figured &#8220;What the heck, I&#8217;ll play.&#8221; Only because this is one of my all-time favorite memories, AND it&#8217;s not like I have 15 things I REALLY SHOULD be doing instead! \ud83d\ude42 So, we moved to Alabama the summer before my [&hellip;]<\/p>\n<div class=\"addtoany_share_save_container\"><div class=\"a2a_kit addtoany_list\"><a class=\"a2a_dd addtoany_share_save\" href=\"http:\/\/www.addtoany.com\/share_save\"><img src=\"http:\/\/moavenz.com\/blog\/wp-content\/plugins\/add-to-any\/share_save_171_16.png\" width=\"171\" height=\"16\" alt=\"Share\"\/><\/a><\/div>\n<script type=\"text\/javascript\"><!--\na2a_config.linkname=\"What the heck&#8230; I&#8217;ll play\";\na2a_config.linkurl=\"http:\/\/moavenz.com\/blog\/?p=76\";\na2a.init('page');\n\/\/--><\/script>\n\n<\/div>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[12,19],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-76","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-me","category-memories"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/moavenz.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/76","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/moavenz.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/moavenz.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/moavenz.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/moavenz.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=76"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/moavenz.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/76\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/moavenz.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=76"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/moavenz.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=76"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/moavenz.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=76"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}