From Michelle who had a blast at her prom the other night....
June is an awful month to have curly hair
especially when you're eighteen, the year
is 1967, the style is long and straight,
and you're going to the Senior Hop.
You get up early to wash it, wrap it around
your head, and sit like an alien under a dryer
hood. It isn't too bad. Graduation starts
at three but by then the humidity has built,
showers are imminent, and pop, pop, pop;
you can feel the ringlets springing as you
walk across the stage to receive your diploma.
A quick look in the mirror when you get home
and you know you are doomed. There just isn't
enough time for another wash and set. You feel
so unfashionable in your pretty yellow gown when
your boyfriend picks you up. But, you smile
for the pictures and make the best of it....until
about a half hour into the prom with hundreds
of Kleenex roses surrounding you, a guy trips
and spills his Coke all over the front of your dress.
You stand there all wet, all brown, all curly. You
want to cry but it won't change anything. The band
begins another corny song, you drag your boyfriend
onto the dance floor and do the only thing you can.