Prom 2013!

There are two things nobody expects to happen on Prom night:

  • The first is, nobody expects their Nana to have a minor heart attack on their stairs.
  • The second is, nobody expects to cry.

That’s just a given! Nobody thinks to themselves, “Gee, I’ll probably have loads of scary drama happen tonight. Better grab the tissues and a paper bag, in case I need to hyperventilate!”

For the record, you guys are way lucky I’m writing about this now, instead of yesterday, otherwise you’d have an angsty, whiny post about how much my life sucks, but now I’ve got a better hold on things as they really are, so this won’t be as awful. I narrowed my mood swing down to two things:

  1. Lack of sleep
  2. PMS. It’s great, y’all. I’m just glad my uterus waited until the day AFTER Prom to wreak havoc on my life. No seriously. Think how horrible that would be, my fellow female readers. Let the terror sink in just a little bit. There we go. 
Back to my story of misery and woe  funny misadventures and cute guys!
For the past three weeks, I have been more stressed and panicky than I’ve ever been in regards to a dance. This wasn’t just any dance. This was PROM. The morning was spent in a nervous haze, dashing to and fro, going to stores in search of just the perfect detail, etc. I was scared to death, but excited as well. This was going to be so awesome!
As the day wore on, I got my nails done, panicked some more, and got the rest of my dress back from the seamstress. I was ready! Except for one little thing: I still needed a clutch to hold my little necessities, and a necklace. We were going to borrow them from my mom’s friend’s little sister (so in other words, a total stranger), and she was still at school, being a good girl and not answering my text. Finally, around 3:45, she answered and said I could pop right over to fetch my desired accessories. I was really stressing out, and to make matters worse, I had to pick up the clutch and necklace in the Smoke Wagon. 
The Smoke Wagon is so named because of the atrocious stench within it’s Canadian walls, but that’s not the worst part: aside from having various mechanical problems, the Smoke Wagon has no AC. So here I was, still in the preliminary stages of Prom Prep, and I had to drive the Smoke Wagon in the heat. Oh heavens.
As I drove, I fought to keep my temper under control- when I’m stressed, I become somewhat of a @#$%&. Sad, but true. So I rage-drove to her house, and when I knocked on her door, nobody answered. I rang the doorbell. Nothing. I walked back to the car, called my mom, and asked her to text the girl to let her know I was here. I didn’t have her number, so this was important. This time she answered, handed me her things, and wished me luck. I drove as fast as legally possible, and got back home in record time. I flung myself down onto the chair in the bathroom, and let Mom work her magic on my hair. Trying my best not to make snippy remarks, I did my makeup and tried to tune everybody out. Suddenly, I was finished! With mere minutes to spare, I finished my eyes and tried not to shake. Then my date called. My mom answered, and after a brief conversation, said goodbye. 
“He’s going to be about 15 minutes late,” she said. I squealed in delight. Every girl needs more prep time! I finished getting ready, and then got ready for the pictures to be taken. Mom and Nana took a bunch of pictures of me, and then I headed into my room to try to breathe.

The doorbell rang. My heart leapt. It was a neighbor. I relaxed. The doorbell rang. My stomach squeezed. It was Geneal’s friend. Things got relatively quiet, and my Dad readied his shotgun to greet my date at the door,  and then everything took a turn for the worse.
 My Nana started screaming for help. This was nothing like I’d ever heard from her before; she sounded terrified. Dad rushed to her, collapsed on the stairs. She wheezed, “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe”, and Dad hollered for someone to call 911. Alicya ran into my room, crying. I held her close, and we both said a prayer, begging to let Nana be okay. They got her downstairs into the recliner just as the ambulance showed up, and I stayed in my room trying not to cry. I was so stressed, I was so scared, and I was so embarrassed. What was he going to think? I know I shouldn’t have been thinking about that, but I couldn’t help it. It was involuntary. My Dad pulled me aside and said he’d decided against the whole shotgun thing. I agreed, but it still made me kinda sad. I was excited about that, morbid as it was, and I knew my dad was as well. 
Then he got there. I heard my Dad answer the door and welcome him in. I figured he would just wait on the couch for me, but he headed straight for my bedroom, and as soon as he saw me walking out, enveloped me in a hug. I really, really needed that, because I was so frazzled. I pulled back, and saw something horrible. I had gotten LIPSTICK on his SUIT. Why me??!?!?!?!?! I ducked into the living room, hoping it would magically disappear, but that was not to be. My parents, of course, noticed, and gave him a tissue so he could try to wipe it off. My face on fire, I sat down on the couch and provided an envelope that Ryan had dropped by earlier with a weird message on the front. Inside was directions to everything, so we chuckled and put them back in the envelope. Then came the part I was dreading. The boutonniere. I canNOT do those things. It’s so embarrassing! I tried weakly to do it, and then gave up. My mother fixed it. Thankfully, he laughed it off and said, “Moms are pretty much always better at anything, right?” I agreed, and then we had the ceremonial pictures taken of us.

For the record, yes, he looked mind-blowingly adorable. And that’s actually the boutonniere box in the picture, because he forgot the corsage at his house- we’d just retrieve it later.
We went downstairs so Nana could meet him, she gave us her stamp of approval, and we were off like a Roman candle!
We chatted and made small talk as he drove, and pretty soon we were (supposedly) at our destination. Which was a house. Then I realized that I sucked, because I’d jumped the gun and led us to the right place at the wrong time. We called Ryan, who was of no help at all, and then we set off once again to find the correct destination. We missed the turnoff a few times, but finally we got there. Everyone else had already arrived, and so they glared at us menacingly. I defended our position by telling them what happened back at home, and how it held us up- because it did. Guess what?
Nobody believed us. Uh, hello? Why would I joke about that? I brushed their disbelief aside and we headed over to the park to take pictures. It was actually really fun! Aside from walking around in high heels in the gravel,  of course.
After pictures, we headed over to Charleston’s to have dinner. When we got there to request seating, a hostess came up to my gentleman and handed him a box. He turned to me and gave me my corsage! It was beautiful, and I loved that he gave it to me there. It was a stylish touch. :^) The wait was long, and by the time we were seated, Prom had started 30 minutes ago. :^( We hurried through dinner, and then jetted off to the dance.

While we were there, I found out that we had craptastic DJ’s who only played fast, bad songs and dubstep (which you can’t even dance to, btw), with the occasional slow song thrown into the mix. We decided to get in line for pictures, and after discovering how pointlessly long the wait was, headed back inside. We danced to a slow song, and I noticed something weird. My date started out dancing with me in closed dance position, but then moved so we were lightly holding hands while dancing, and pretty soon we just kind of swayed, not really touching anymore. Then the song ended, and we went back to awkwardly dancing to the crappy fast music. We made the necessary rounds, hugging people and telling them how wonderful they looked- which they did. Everyone looked like a star- and went back to awkwardly dancing. We even photobombed a picture!

We’re cute.

After that, Prom royalty was announced, and we headed back to the hallway so we could wait for pictures without the huge line. Just my luck- of course Prom royalty had to dance a slow song, and since we were in the hallway, there was no slow dancing  for us, which, frankly, bummed me out. I wanted to dance with him! Geez!
We went back in after deciding the wait was stupid, and he went to get a fancy drink. I got some water, and then another slow song started. Hurray! I would get to dance with him at last!

Just kidding. He came up to me and asked if it would be okay to dance with another girl for this song. I said okay, and watched from the sidelines while holding his drink to make sure it wouldn’t be discarded. I thought that maybe the same weird thing would happen, where he’d slowly let go of her, but nope. They waltzed all over the dance floor, doing tricks and spinning, and having a grand old time. I felt a twinge of sadness, because I really wanted that to be me in his arms being twirled around the room, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I sat dejectedly in the corner, holding his drink. When the song ended, he found me again and I handed him his drink, and we chatted while he sipped at it.
We got in line once again for pictures, and finally got some taken! We got back into the fray, and danced to the crappy music some more. We had just started dancing the bachata when someone from student council dragged him away for more pictures. I started talking to a girl and mentioned how I wished they would play more slow songs. She started laughing and said, “Just so you can dance with your date?”
Well, yeah. He’s my date, and this is Prom. You’re supposed to dance at Prom. It’s not because he’s the cutest guy in school, it’s not because I want to make people jealous, it’s not because I have this huge crush on him-because I don’t-I just want to dance with him to see if he’ll actually touch me this time. I want to be danced with. I want him to tell me I’m beautiful, because I did all this work for him. I want him to really touch me, not just put his arm around me flirtatiously and then back off as soon as someone starts talking to him. I said this in my head, but just smiled, and said, “Well yeah! He’s my date!” I started walking up to the DJ’s to let them know, but just then my date showed up from getting pictures taken. A slow song started, and we began dancing.

He held me close, and we swayed to the music. THIS was what I’d been waiting for. THIS was what I wanted. I was finally having a dance with him, when he said, “Do you mind if I cut in with her for a little bit?” I looked over and noticed a girl was on the sidelines, while her date spun someone else on the floor. She wasn’t sad, she was smiling, because even though her date was dancing with someone else, it was obvious that he’d been spending time with her, and no doubt he’d made her feel beautiful- which is what every girl deserves. Every girl spends countless hours preparing for this dance, and they need to feel appreciated and beautiful when the moment finally comes and they reveal their dress and their hair and their makeup to be judged by the boy and everyone else. But I digress. I said okay, and he twirled me away from him and began dancing with her. I stood all alone by a table, and watched as everyone danced with their dates.

The same girl I’d been talking to previously came up and said, “I loaned my date to somebody”. Smiling, she turned to me, as if asking where my date was. I smiled half-heartedly, and she said quietly, “did your date loan himself?” I nodded and looked at my shoes. I began to realize that he hadn’t hardly touched or danced with me at all the whole time we were at the dance, and once the realization hit, I felt downright awful. I looked at her and said, “We should ask for one more slow song, because I heard someone say this was the last slow dance.” We went up to the DJ’s and asked for one more slow song. the DJ looked at me and said
“No, we’ve got two minutes left- and we’ve got a song lined up already. Why, you want a slow song?”
Not even hiding my irritation, I said, “Well, yeah. You guys have played, like four slow songs this whole freaking time. It’s the last song! I want to dance!” He shrugged and turned back to his table.
Mentally kicking him, I walked away. With a screech, the last song began to play. The last song. I couldn’t believe it. Prom was over, and I hadn’t danced a full song with my date. My heart sunk down to my shoes, and as he approached, I tried to smile. He said we could try to slow dance to this last song even though it was fast, and so we did. For approximately 30 seconds. Then he asked if I wanted to find our group, so I said sure, and we found them. Obviously nobody was slow dancing, so we stopped and stood in a circle the rest of the song.

Then it ended, and we left. We sang “I Won’t Say I’m in Love” on the way to the car for some reason, and then said goodbye to our group. We got in the car, and he said, “I feel kinda bad for ditching you on the last slow song,” and I laughed weakly. I made sure not to say “It’s okay”, because it wasn’t. He hadn’t danced with me all the way through for a single song. He didn’t touch me hardly at all. He never said I looked beautiful. He told other girls they looked nice, but he never said anything to me. My heart plummeted. Why wasn’t I good enough for him? What did I do to merit this? I thought I looked okay, why didn’t he say anything? Why wouldn’t he touch me? Why, why, why? All the girls who’d talked to me about it all said the same thing: he’s the best date, he’ll dance with you for like every song, he’ll stay by your side the whole time, blah blah blah. Why was I the exception? Why would he do that to me? Why wasn’t I good enough for him? I kept these thoughts in my head the whole way home, and we made more small talk. We talked about the play, and being a lead character in it, and other things, but my heart still hurt. To add on to everything, I was worried about Nana, and I was embarrassed about getting lipstick on his suit and leading us the wrong way when we were supposed to be at the park, and I was really embarrassed about having made such a huge deal about everything for three weeks.
But I never said anything about this. He had a good time I think, and if he’s happy, I’m happy-ish.

He walked me to the door and hugged me, and I apologized once again for the terrible navigating job. He said, “Haeley, I’ve already totally forgotten that! Don’t worry! The directions were dumb, it’s not your fault”, then he hugged me again. That made we feel a little better, and I thanked him again for asking me, and went inside. My parents had waited up for me, and I told them my story. I went in my room and fell apart after that. Prom is supposed to be special, so why was I crying? I was tired, I was worried, I was embarrassed, I was crushed.
I sent one of my friends a picture of my date and I, and eventually explained everything to her. It felt good to vent, and it felt good to have someone listen. I went to bed and tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. I still hurt.
The next day I had to explain everything to my siblings, and I had to try very hard not to cry. When I told Geneal though, I lost it. I just cried and cried, and she listened sympathetically. I really have the best people on earth surrounding me and loving me. Everyone has been so kind and caring to me, and I really appreciate it. Sorry this story ends sadly, but I figured I needed to write down everything. I feel better now, now that I know that most of my emotions have stemmed from lack of sleep and menstruation, and I understand that he’s is a popular boy, and popular boys need to tend to their flock of followers, so he did. He just forgot to tend to his date sometimes.
Overall, I did have an enjoyable time, and even though the dance itself was lackluster, I’ve decided it’s because he’s popular, and popular people wear masks around multiple people.
I’ll post more pictures soon!
Thanks for reading,


The Bright Side.

So with all this stressing about Prom and my dress and my date, etc. etc., it’s been pretty hard to really enjoy the whole process. I’m sure you guys know all about this, because of my obsession with posting about it, and talking about it, and dreaming about it- four dreams, to be exact- I’m sure to be annoying you all to death, but I just can’t help it! I’m so excited and scared!
The one person who’s been keeping me sane this whole time is none other than my wonderful mother. I seriously do not know what I would do if she wasn’t by my side throughout all this. She’s been so excited for me this whole time, she hasn’t complained that I’m boring her nor does she tell me to chill out. She’s as excited as I am, I think! Last night when we were picking out my fabric, she kept squealing and saying how exciting this was. I love you so much, Mommy.
It makes my day to come home and have a mom who’s every bit as excited for Prom as I am, and it makes her just that much more dear to me.
I can’t thank this woman enough for all she’s been doing for me, and I hope that she knows how appreciative I am.
And for the record, I am in LOVE with the fabric we picked out. It’s a lovely, understated color.


All For You.

This crap is stressing me out. I am trying to be healthy and lose a pound or two, in addition to earning as much money as possible in order to get a prom dress worth wearing. I have a VERY specific dress in mind, and I’ve been irrationally stubborn in regards to attaining said dress. No other dress seems as perfect as the one I have in mind, and I’m having immense difficulty coming to terms with the thought of having to get a different one.

That dress. Right there. That’s the one.
So I’ve been doing tons of babysitting, and trying to eat really healthy/exercise, and I’ve been doing really good- but today I totally fell off the wagon. I think it started because I had to weed Satan’s Garden this morning. It. Was. Torture. Waist high, thick, thick weeds, COVERING A HEALTHY-SIZED YARD. I was grateful for the opportunity to earn more money, but it was so frustrating at the same time. I kept repeating “it’s for the dress. You can do this for the dress. The dress will be worth it. Think. Dress. Think. Dress.” I didn’t get to finish it all, but I’ll come back later. The worst part about it was definitely the seeds. Little tiny yellow seeds all up in my gloves, in my hair, and even IN MY EYES. I PULLED THREE FRICKIN’ SEEDS
It was not a fun time. So here I sit, with a butt that’s as sore as the day is long, legs that are blistered and strained, and fingers that weep gently every time I move them. All for the sake of my dress. I’d better look gorgeous in that thing, or I’ll torch the world.
Maybe I’m being dramatic, but this dress seems almost crucial to my happiness. With a few simple alterations, I feel like I would be able to feel my most beautiful-which is kind of important, when you take my date into consideration. I want to be beautiful for him. And no, it’s not because of who it is. Every formal dance I’ve been to, I have a need to feel as beautiful as possible, because I want to have my date appreciate my appearance. Vain, isn’t it? But I want to give them something in return for asking me out (or in some cases, agreeing to go with me), by looking and feeling my best. When I feel beautiful, I think it makes me look more beautiful, which leads to me having a better time and then I can take the focus off my looks and try to make my date feel as comfortable as possible. So that’s why I want this dress. I need to feel beautiful before I can feel comfortable, and Prom is a big deal, so I want a dress to match the occasion. I don’t want something super bright and flashy, and I don’t want something super poufy or fluffy. I want simplicity, beauty, and elegance. And I feel like that dress provides it.
But I digress. I majorly screwed up today as far as eating goes. I’ve been trying to limit my portion sizes and only eat natural foods/ cut out dairy and meat, but since I went on a date today, I ate more than I intended to, and then I made everything worse by eating ice cream at home and taquitos for dinner. So I feel like a fatty, and it’s making me super uncomfortable. So tomorrow I am making up my mind to have a renewed vigilance in my diet of sorts, so that I can look my best in my dress.
Also, I dreamt the other day that Prom sucked. So I’m trying my best to make sure it doesn’t.
Boy, you’d better be ready for the best Prom of your life. This is (almost) all for you. A good chunk of it is for the dress.
But also you. Because you’re, you know, my date and stuff. And I want to feel good about this whole shebang.


The Reply

All weekend I’ve been periodically getting insane amounts of butterflies and slight dizzy spells, because the anticipation is KILLING ME. I just needed to reply, and it was driving me nutso. Plus I’ve been stressing out about my dress and stuff, so I just wanted to get it over with and have one less thing to worry about. So I did this:

Uh, yeah. I’m that awesome. I plopped it into a cute envelope covered in mustaches,

And gave it to Mr. Dalton to deliver in 2nd hour.
He got it, and now we’re good! Now I just need money for a dress…..


Another Prom post

Guys, I am legitimately freaking out.

I’m sorry you have to hear it so often, because if you text me, that’s all I’ve been talking about. I’m sure it’s been a miserable twelve hours for you, hasn’t it? Thanks for letting me whine at you. You can skip this post if you want, of course, because it contains more of me freaking out.
But really, I am so scared. I don’t know what I am going to do! I feel a bit like Cinderella, going to the ball with a prince, when I’m really just a maid.

Where am I supposed to LOOK?! When we’re dancing, of course. I mean, I know I should look at him, but what if he feels awkward when I’m looking at him? What if he doesn’t look at me? And I know if he smiles at me while I’m dancing with him I’ll lose it and say something stupid. Because that’s what happens when cute boys smile at me. My brain disconnects and I start rambling, regardless of if I actually like-like them.

What if I trip on my dress? I don’t want to trip on my dress! What if it rips? What if I start sweating and he can feel it? That’s sooooooo gross! What if that turns him off? What if he decides to dance with other people more of his caliber? You know, popular?
Why would he choose me? That’s what keeps running through my head right now. WHY ME?
Don’t get me wrong, I am flattered beyond belief, and so excited, but still. I’m just Haeley.

I’m starting to worry about my house, too. I am going to have to deep clean it before he gets here, even though he’s probably only going to see the living room, at most. I can NOT afford to have someone like him in a dirty house. Also, all of my siblings must be clothed. Thing 2 wasn’t for one of my dances, and that was AWKWARD and EMBARRASSING. I already know I will embarrass myself without any of their help, so I will not tolerate shirtlessness, even if it is Thing 2, and even if he does have an adorably squishy lil’ belly.

Also, what if Thing 1’s first tee ball game is the same day?? I’ve already figured out what’s going to happen. I’m going to ask my date if we can stop by to see him for just a few minutes, because I am seriously so excited to see that boy play a real game! I’ve been waiting his whole life. Literally.

And what about other people being jealous and whatnot? He’s pretty much king of the campus, and little old me is going with him. What if I get nasty notes or gossip or something? I don’t want anyone to hate me!

Oh my word, does he have any idea what this is doing to me?!

I’m still so excited. And worried. I can’t sleep, and I haven’t tried out the whole eating thing yet, but it’s probably going to be an issue for me.

Oh, and let’s not forget pre-dance nerves. Anyone who’s been in the car with me before I pick up a date knows I get nervous (Julia, I’m cyber-looking at you), and I don’t just mean light butterflies. I’m talking serious, melt-down, I’m-screaming-in-the-car-trying-not-to-throw-up nerves. It gets really bad. Emotions are a physical affair with me, and I’m scared I’ll actually throw up while waiting for him.


BUT…. He still chose me. That means that obviously he likes me enough to want to spend an entire evening with the shortest 11th grader in school. He wants to dance with me for the biggest dance in high school. He wants to go on a day date with me. He wants to get adorable/cheesy pictures taken with me. ME.
And I think that little thought is worth all my worry. Because that little thought is awesome.
I’m going to PROM!!!


p.s. I can’t stop staring at this in utter disbelief:

My heart and my head say this whenever I read it:
You. Me.
Spazz attack??

The Invite

Ever since the big announcement of Prom, I have been fantasizing up a storm- which is the norm for me. Specifically WHO would ask me. I’m going to be honest here- I really wanted a certain guy to ask me, because he’s fun, he’s nice, and, yes, I know. He’s super cute. And also really popular. So in my mind it was always a nice picture, having him on my arm, and all the girls steaming in jealousy. Yes, I am vain. Don’t try to pretend you wouldn’t love that to happen too.

So since Prom has been rapidly approaching, I’ve been trying super hard to not eat as much, because I want to lose weight for Prom. So my mantra has been simply, “prom”. I say that, and all of a sudden, I do not want to eat that extra serving of noodles, and I want to work out for fifteen days so I can look the best possible. Don’t judge me, okay? I’d like to feel confident while I’m dancing, thank you very much.

Then I had this realization: not only was there no chance in the world that he would actually want to ask ME out, nobody would. I really couldn’t think of a boy who would ask me. So I consoled myself with the idea that maybe I could take pictures for people! That would be fun, right? I could take good ones, too. I’ve got a good eye, and maybe I could even make money off it?? Or I could paint nails!!! I’m good at that, too! Perfect!

Then I decided to stop being hard on myself. Who MIGHT ask me out? Ooh, maybe T! I would LOVE to go with him. That would be so nice. We’d have a great time, I feel totally comfortable around him, and he’s such a sweetie. Yeah. I want T to ask me out.

Bad news. Someone told me he might not go to Prom. Great.

Cut to Wednesday. I was in first hour, minding my own business, when a girl walked in with the most adorable thing ever: a tall vase full of gumballs, with flowers coming out of the top and sparkly twirly things, with the letters P R O M ? scattered in the mix. My heart leapt. Was today the day? Was I about to be asked to Prom??? “Is _____ here?” the girl asked. Regrettably, she wasn’t. But she eventually got it, and I’m sure she appreciated it immensely.

Cut to today. Between Ballroom and Drama (1st and 2nd hours), I was chatting in the foyer when the minute bell rang. I trotted up the steps to the auditorium only to find the most stunning array of roses on the stage, set up on a charming little table bearing an envelope with the word PROM? Printed on it. My heart leapt once more. Was THIS the day? Was I really, truly being asked to Prom? Then I looked over and saw my homecoming date from last year sitting next to the bouquet, and I decided that I couldn’t possibly be asked by him: he already took me to Homecoming, so it would be kind of unfair of him to ask me out again. So I dismissed the idea and reverted to my plan to take pictures. Then I got called up to the front desk. I walked briskly out of the auditorium, and skipped down the steps. “What’d I do?” I said, only half joking. Mrs. Edmunds said “I called your name like three times!” and handed me a paper box with a cutesy little straw coming out of it.

I gave a little squeal and said, “Am I getting asked to PROM?! *squeal and excited little wiggle*” Mrs. Edmunds just shrugged and gave me a look as if to say, “Why do I care? Go to class!” So I did.
I stared at the box throughout the announcements trying to figure out who it could be. I immediately came to a conclusion: it was probably one of my guy friends. Upon closer inspection, I ruled out one of them. He didn’t have that kind of style, and the other dude was more apt to have stripey paper straws laying around his house. More his style. Or more his mother’s style. Obviously he got some help.

Clever little touch, no? Crossing out the name. Clever boy.

So I waited impatiently through announcements, and as my curiosity and excitement increased, so did the shaking in my hands. Pretty soon I knew I was going either pee, scream, or go insane, so I waited until the lucky girl was called up onstage to receive her invitation, and then I opened mine.

No. Way. WHAT? Was this some sort of joke? There is no way THE BOY I HOPED is actually asking ME, HAELEY WHETTEN to a dance. Not just any dance. Prom. Prom. Prom. PROM, PEOPLE. PROM IS THE BIGGEST FREAKING DANCE IN THE HISTORY OF SCHOOL. Last year he took pretty much the most gorgeous girl in school, which wasn’t a shock, and honestly, I can’t believe he would want to take someone like me after her. I’m so short, and I have a funky smile, and I wear dorky t-shirts to Ballroom, and, and, I’m short! And I’m not popular. And I’m not any of the girls I totally thought he was going to ask. And I sweat during Ballroom, which makes me feel gross and smelly the rest of the day. Why would he want to go to Prom with that?

I started freaking out, and asked Mr. Helmbold to be excused to go compose myself, because I was about to go into cardiac arrest. So I went out the door…. And saw him. I turned around as fast as humanly possible and ran the other way. I got to the bathroom and called my mom. She answered the phone, and I really began to lose it.
*in a small, squeaky voice* “McKay!!”
“WHAT?!?!?!?!?! OH MY GOSH! THAT IS SO AWESOME!” *laughs*
At this point I was hyperventilating, and in a few minutes I was starting to feel tears form. That’s the three stages of being asked to Prom: shaking, hyperventilation, and tearing up.
I called my dad, and I told him the joyous news. Then I calmed down very, very slightly and went back to class.
I realized something scary just then: I have Citizenship with him. What was I supposed to do?! Just play it cool, maybe totally ignore him? Tell him to get lost because I’m trying not to lose my head and that I came up with a genius way to reply to him? No. Ignoring him was my best bet. However, as the fates would have it, he sat right next to me. And smiled that cute smile, and said in an adorably teasing way, “So, did you figure it out??” Since he blasted right through my plan, I flirtaciously replied, “It took me a really long time… Super difficult.”*bats eyelashes*  He grinned charismatically and said, “Well, I WAS in disguise…” and then chuckled attractively.
 All through the day, I’ve felt like this:

I couldn’t focus on me Chemistry test, I couldn’t wait to get out of Choir, and even now I’m feeling slightly woozy. I’ve been battling bouts of self-doubt all day, and it will probably continue/get worse up until the day after the dance. That’s who I am, and I do not understand it when boys ask me out. I can’t imagine them actually wanting to go out with me, but somehow, I’ve brainwashed them into thinking I’m worth their time, and I’m not complaining, because I love going out on dates! It’s super fun!

I still would LOVE to go with T to Mormon Prom. I think that would be way fun. I hope maybe he thinks so too….?

Oh my gosh you guys, I feel like this:

And that’s just the half of it!
Look for a post in which I reply soon!!!!!!!!
GUYS I AM GOING TO PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!