HoCo, Revis

The past few weekends, my friends with High School aged kids, of which, I have several, have been posting pictures of their kiddos at Homecoming.

Now, honestly, I know that from the sound of it, homecoming is a time when people come home.  Why fall?  Who knows?  But that's when they do it.

At first, it felt a little early for it - but that's when I realized it's only because it has felt like permanent summer.  It's the season, everyone!

I attended three out of four Homecoming dances in High School.

Freshman year was Jay, who dumped me the day before the dance but said we could still go.  It was super awkward.  I ended up leaving my shoes in the gym at picture time, so there I was in a gorgeous little taffeta ensemble, shoeless.  Strange.

Sophomore year, Paul invited me.  He like-liked me and I was indiff-different to him.  He asked me in French.  Not the class, the language.  I said yes.  I knew he was broke AF, so I suggested we go to Waffle House for pre-dance dinner.  I like to think I was a decent human being.  On the ride home, he mentioned that he wanted to date me, and I, who had been nursing a broken heart from a spring/summer whirlwind romance, turned him down as nicely as I could.

Junior year, I put out feelers, and a friend said she'd plant the seed with Eric.  I thought she had, so when I asked him, he said his friend was planning to set him up with someone else.  Well, that mess got sorted out, and we went together.  Ended up dating briefly, but it got too serious too fast and he dumped me.

Senior year, I didn't go.  I tried.  Lord knows, I tried.  Nowadays, girls go in groups, without dates, or stag.  I should have done that.  I invited a guy, Jason -  just a friend.  He let me down easy - deer season started that weekend, and said we should get dinner.  We never did.  Now he and his wife work for the State Department in Angola.

Eric is an architect, Paul, last I heard was teaching math and coaching girls' volleyball at a private school.  Jay is a computer programmer.  I didn't remain friendly with any of them, really.  Well, Paul, for a while - then that dropped off.

Anyway,  the shoeless taffeta green dress was my Frosh year, followed by black velvet the next year  - I looked like a goth executive.  My junior year dress was amazing - purple velvet - halter top, short full skirt with crinoline.  We went to a billiards place after the dance, and I remember Eric lifting my skirt up with a cue while I tried to shoot.

The little things you remember are weird. 

Frosh year, we ate at a place called Steak and Ale - it's been turned into a bar.  Junior year, we went to Provino's.  My first love had worked there, and I remember going there with a girlfriend, Jenny, after he dumped me.  I wore a white sundress with red polka dots, and got so emotional about him, I ended up getting sick in the ladies room.

My sophomore year, my hair was a mess, and I was broken out, and wearing braces.  What a hot mamacita!

Some things never change.  I've been emotional enough to get sick at restaurants in my 40s.  My hair is a mess, and my skin breaks out for important events.

Getting my nails done is less of a big deal.  I rarely wear heels now, and pantyhose, never. 

I still like Waffle House, and I wish I had more opportunities to dress up and dance.

I haven't bought or worn a corsage in ages.  Maybe when Henry gets married.  Even if he doesn't get me one, I'll make it happen.  BOOM!

I used to call the wrist corsages casket sprays for hamsters, because:

Image 1
Dearly beloved, here lies Mr. Sprinklea

The last time I wore a corsage was at a Second Chance prom in my 20s.  Haha - that was fun.

I've had a lot of pretty dresses, and a lot of fun over the years.

Homecoming in college was a little different.  I remember clearly my Sophomore year staying out late drinking, and sleeping at my friend's dorm before staggering back to my sorority house at 7AM.

I had managed to shower, wash my hair and brush my teeth.  As I was getting dressed, some sisters came to get me because it was time to paint the window for Homecoming.  We had been assigned a window at Peppino's - a pizza joint in the heart of downtown, right across from campus.  Think "upscaler Sbarro".

So, I was sweating like a monster, and my sweat reeked of cheap vodka and hooking-up.  I was massively hungover, and we were in this greasy pizza joint.  I thought I was going to die.  I didn't  I remember the window not looking too great, but I also remember not caring.

I also remember not drinking vodka for a good while.

I remember next to nothing about my Junior and Senior of college Homecomings.  The year after I graduated, I went to a J School tailgate for homecoming in hopes of networking.  I had business cards made.  They were so amateur.  Sad.  But thankfully, I didn't pass out a single one.

And now, here I am, watching my friends kids in their neckties and pretty little frocks, all headed to dinner with friends, and to a dance, where no one really dances, and maybe they get to cop a feel on the way home.

And I think, I may be a few weeks short of 45, but I wouldn't go back for all the garlic rolls at Provino's.  Those things were good, too.  But who ate garlic rolls before a dance?  Exactly.