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World Civ: WORLD PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
PROM!
Friday, May 9, 7 p.m. the loft
I really do not have time for all of this bickering between my mom and Grandmère. Don’t these women know I have more important things to worry about? I AM GOING TO THE PROM TOMORROW WITH MY BOYFRIEND. I am supposed to be getting plenty of rest and anointing my body with precious unguents right now, not refereeing fights between the postmenopausal and the hormonally challenged.
WHY CAN’T YOU BOTH SHUT UP??????????? I want to scream at them.
But that, of course, wouldn’t be very princesslike.
I am going to put on my headphones and try to drown out the noise with the mix Michael made for my birthday party. Perhaps the dulcet tones of the Flaming Lips will calm my fractious nerves.
Friday, May 9, 7:02 p.m.
Not even the Flaming Lips can drown out Grandmère’s strident tones. Am switching to Kelly Osbourne.
Friday, May 9, 7:04 p.m.
Success! Finally, I can hear myself think.
Michael just e-mailed to let me know that he and the band would probably be up all night practicing for their first big gig. But it is fully all right for the GUY to show up at the prom with dark circles under his eyes (look at that guy who ended up at the Time Zone dance with Melissa Joan Hart in Drive Me Crazy). It’s just not okay for the GIRL to look less than petal smooth and daisy fresh.
The guys in the band aren’t exactly stoked about the whole playing at the prom thing. In fact, rumor has it Trevor even said, “Oh, man, can’t we just stick forks in our eyes, instead?”
But Michael says he told him a gig is a gig, and that beggars can’t be choosers.
Michael signed off on his e-mail with this:
See you tomorrow night. Love, M
Tomorrow night. Oh, yes. Tomorrow night, my love, when I enter the prom on your arm, and see the jealous gazes of all of my peers. Well, just Lana, because she’s the only freshman besides me who is going. Except for Shameeka. Only she would never look at me jealously, because she is my friend.
Oh, and Tina. Because it turns out Tina is going to the prom, too. Because of course Boris is in Michael’s band, and since he is going to be there, he is allowed to bring one guest, and he chose Tina, because she, as he put it at lunch today, “is my new muse, and sole reason for living.”
Oh, how thrilled Tina looked to hear these words uttered from the lips of her new love! I swear, she practically choked on her Snapple. She beamed across the table at Boris, and though I never thought I would write these words, I swear they are true:
Boris almost looked handsome as he basked in the hearth glow of her affection.
Seriously. Like, even his underbite didn’t look that pronounced. And his chest kind of puffed out.
Either that, or he’s been working out or something.
AHHHHH! The phone! Oh please God let it be my dad to say the strike is over and he’s sending the limo down to pick Grandmère up….
Friday, May 9, 7:10 p.m.
It wasn’t my dad. It was Michael, to ask if I agree with the lineup of songs Skinner Box plans on playing tomorrow. It includes many old prom standbys, such as the Moldy Peaches’ “Who’s Got the Crack” and Switchblade Kittens’ “All Cheerleaders Die,” in addition to edgier stuff such as “Mary Kay” by Jill Sobule and “Call the Doctor” by Sleater-Kinney. This is not to mention Skinner Box’s original songs, such as “Rock-Throwing Youths” and “Princess of my Heart.”
I did feel compelled to suggest Michael replace “Rock-Throwing Youths” with something a little less controversial, like “When It’s Over” by Sugar Ray or “She Bangs” by Ricky Martin, but he said he would sooner show up in the middle of Times Square wearing nothing but a cowboy hat (oh, how I wish he would!). So I suggested some old school Spoon or the White Stripes instead.
Then Michael went, “What is all that shouting in the background?”
“Oh,” I said airily, “that’s just Grandmère and my mom, arguing. Grandmère keeps insisting that my mom let her smoke in the loft, but Mom says it’s not good for me or for the baby. Grandmère just accused my mother of being a fascist. She says when she had Hitler and Mussolini over to the palace for tea at the height of World War II, they both let her smoke, and if it was good for those guys, it should be good enough for my mom.”
“Uh, Mia,” Michael said. “You do know your grandmother’s age, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I said, remembering Grandmère’s birthday with all too much clarity: she had insisted on my going back to Genovia with her to celebrate it, only I had had midterms (THANK GOD) and so was unable to. Don’t think I didn’t hear about THAT ad nauseam for weeks.
