Nothing But Shattered Dreams

You know I love me some Sadie. So I don’t mean to seem ungrateful when I whine, why are there no matching outfits in these pictures?

Some self-disclosure is appropriate at this point. The only time I attended a Sadie Hawkins dance, my date and I did not wear matching shirts. In fact, he wore a smelly vintage jacket just purchased that day. When I arrived at his house to pick him up, he was still excited from his shopping trip with Miss Penley to buy costumes for the senior play, Guys and Dolls. He wanted to share his enthusiasm with any fellow cast members he saw at the dance, so he grabbed one of the jackets before we left.

Keep in mind that I was easily humiliated as a 17-year-old. I already felt humiliated because I was extra tall and certain I’d never be able to wear a matching shirt with anyone. At the cafetorium, I found it humiliating to take a photograph with my date because custom had the girl sitting on the guy’s lap—and I was obviously too gigantic for that sort of behavior!

Both my date and I would have had more fun had I been less uptight about my perceived shortcomings. (Pardon the antonymic pun.) My photo from that dance captured the painful moment after my objections, his obvious disappointment, his sagging blazer. Believe me when I say that I will have a lot more fun at age 38 during the reunion party, even with a more generously sized body than I’ve ever had in my life. If my date asks me to sit on his lap, I will not hesitate. I’m guessing he won’t, though: he’s too thrilled about the new suit he bought.