You are the dancing queen…

We had driven all the way to Grapevine Mall in Rachel’s white Lexus on Tuesday so she could try on prom dresses, yet I ended up trying on eleven of them.

The first was a minty blue colored dress, a shorter one with tendrils of fabric swirling around my bruised knees. My beat up black Converse made it look super punk rock. The top was accented by two strips of sparkly white rhinestones. It looked like I actually had boobs. I felt like a princess.

That one was my favorite.

Young and sweet…

Later, Angela tried on a georgeous royal purple gown that hit the floor. She had been complaining all day about how she’s too fat and not going to prom with us. I wish she could see how beautiful she looked in that dress.

Rachel and I both struggled with piles of dresses in another store. She could never find one she really liked until the very end. It was a simple blue one, nothing too special. I came out in a long coral dress that was beautiful, a close match to the minty blue one. But I’d have to wear heels with it, something I’ve never done before.

Part of me couldn’t believe I was even considering going to prom at all. I always try my best to go against what the average teenage girl does. But I suppose I’m really afraid it’ll be a disappointment after pseudo-prom last year.

Only seventeen…

I guess I should say it’s my birthday. On March 12, 1997 at 6:24 pm I believe, I came into this world. Rachel and Angela left my house this morning after snacking on ice cream cake and playing World of Warcraft all night.

We’ve been driving most of the day, my family and I, on our way to Tulsa. Then eventually St. Louis. Carly has a volleyball tournament and I get to spend three glorious days of my precious spring break watching my favorite sport in the whole world.

Hopefully my dad will take me sightseeing.

The hotel room in Tulsa smells like burnt sausage. Someone on the first floor passed out drunk in his room while cooking and smoke was everywhere, slowly seeping up to the fourth floor and into my pillow. The aroma is giving me a headache and my back hurts from the car ride.

But I’m seventeen today. I can go see rated R without sneaking in. No more curfew, at least by the law. (Probably not by my parents) It’s the age of consent in Texas, as my friend adamantly made known to me when he turned seventeen April 9th last year. And I keep thinking back to that minty blue dress. The one that made me feel like a princess, like a queen. I think of that 1976 song by ABBA.

I am the dancing queen.