The homecoming dance

There's an incredibly heartwarming story about a town rallying around Whitney Kropp, an unpopular sophomore girl who was nominated to her homecoming court as a prank. It reminds me of an event that happened to me in high school. I have to stress that I was the "victim" of kindness instead of cruelty, and while less monumental than Whitney's story, it does highlight the quality of people in the Class of 2001 from Rosemead High School.

Long ago, in the year 2000, I was nominated to the homecoming court senior year as a result of a conspiracy. The smart, attractive, and popular women my year basically decided it would be nice to have someone not popular for football or chiseled good looks (my words, not theirs). I missed the announcement due to sickness, so the ASB and Senior class presidents visited me at home, where I was embarrassed that my room smelled like I hadn't showered in a while (which, given the flu, it's possible I hadn't). Kinda embarrassing, especially since these two were gorgeous and charismatic as only Thai women can be.

So, I got fitted for a free rented tux (the first and only time I've worn one) and posed for pictures with the guys at the dance, all of whom were genuinely good guys. For instance, I'd known Jorge since grade school. He was always the kindest person, and the single best double-dodge player to have ever played at Shuey Elementary. Update: Apparently I didn't know the guys on court that well, but they were nice. Old age has caused me to substitute someone better-known to me. If it's this bad at 29, I don't know what it'll be like in whatever numbers come after that one.

I'm the Asian one. Also, check out my awesome scanning/photo editing skills.

I was told that all the guys were bringing their moms to the dance, and I complied. However, I, being the social and anxious moron that I was, didn't even think to bring a real date as well.

It dawned on me at some point early in the dance. Yeah, it's a little weird to show up with your mom as your date, even if all the other guys are doing it, and then to realize they're all dancing with people born during Reagan's presidency while you are attempting to cha-cha to house music with your mother.

I think my exact words at that point were, "This sucks. Let's leave."

Now that I think about it, this was one of two dances I attended in high school. There was a Sadie Hawkins' (or Backwards, or whatever the hell you damn kids call it nowadays) dance where I helped my date serve churros the entire night. Again, socially awkward.

All this to say, I, too, had a Cinderella story, thanks to people at RHS. But I'm also proof that a frog in a tux is still a frog. There's still time - maybe instead of trying for a Masters in Engineering/JD/MD, I should go to finishing school.

Then, maybe I'd be king, and not just a prince. Damn you David Flores! Floreeeeeeeeeeeeeees!