Over the weekend, my friend Aaron celebrated his 40th birthday.
For the occasion, his wife threw him a 1987 Prom.
She rented a hotel ballroom and decorated it with balloons, steamers and confetti.
She even built a decorated arch and hired a professional photographer.
The rest of us spent a lot of time looking for ruffled, taffeta ball gowns at the local thrift stores.
After visiting three different thrift stores I found only one formal dress that fit.
Though there was nothing about it that signified 1987 specifically, I was tired of shopping and decided I would have to focus my efforts on building big hair.
We went out for our pre-prom dinner with Merrily and Gepetto and turned quite a few heads.
[Because, I mean... look at them!]
When we arrived at the prom and parted the tinsel curtain hanging in the door, we stepped back in time.
Everything was just as it should be, just as it was.
There were women sporting pony tails tied high and to the side, teal ruffled monstrosities with dyed to match shoes and men with eyeliner and highlights.
Hairspray and frosted lipstick were in plentiful supply.
K and I got our prom picture taken and though no one was dancing yet, I pulled him onto the floor for the first slow dance.
Both of us went to the prom in high school, but we both went with friends for the sake of going.
Neither of us were in love with our dates – or even dating them for that matter.
Swaying on the dance floor with K, my arms high and around his neck in true high school fashion, I felt a kind of secret gladness to relive the prom with him.
My husband is my own personal, ultimate prom fantasy date.
There I was, at the prom, with him, the one.
Sticking to the spirit of 1987, the D.J. played songs that seemed to strictly adhere to the year.
At first, no one could really remember how we used to dance to that 80’s music, but gradually, the punk, alterna-teen moves of yesteryear returned.
K and I danced all night, skipping only a few songs.
We stayed out and awake far later than usual.
[It was prom after all.]
The next morning, when I heard The Rooster calling for me, I lifted my body up out of the bed, clutched my back and yelled.
K’s body was equally angry.
Therein lies the difference between 17 year old prom and 40 year old prom.
Oy vay... my achin' back.