All right already ... I said I'd write about my teenage daughter's promposal and so I will. But let's start by explaining what a promposal is in the first place.
According to urbandictionary.com (one of my faves), promposal is defined as:
(n)- a proposal from one person asking another person to the prom; the combination of the words "prom" and "proposal."
Then, as is their way, the folks at urbandictionary.com give us a humorous example:
Jake: I'm thinking about how I'll do my promposal...
Sean: Who're you going to ask?
Jake: Well, I haven't decided yet.
Sean: You have to decide before you ask someone to prom!
Sean has a point. But, Jake is wise to plan ahead. A date is ... well ... just a date. But, thanks to the ubiquity of social media, a promposal can live forever. And over the past few years, the promposal bar has been raised quite high. Sky-high in fact.
Back in the ancient times of 1980, I was a senior in a virtually all-girls class of an urban school. We had no prom. So, we, if reason follows, had no promposals either. Before you go feeling sorry for me, let me reassure you that I didn't know what I was missing. My contemporaries in more traditional high schools weren't getting promposalled either.
The Washington Post cites 2001 as the first known official promposal, reported (and christened a "promposal") by the Dallas Morning News. Some students hijacked the school loudspeaker and sang a song from Adam Sandler's The Wedding Singer, but with new prom-tastic lyrics. Their dates said yes. The school said "You're suspended."
Fear not, gentle readers, the consequences suffered by the hopeful singers didn't deter future promposers. In fact, being suspended for a particularly creative and over-the-top promposal makes the whole thing that much more exciting.
Public displays of affection — painting a billboard, dressing up like a gorilla, riding a horse into school — became de rigeur. And as teens embraced social media ("Embraced social media?" Is that an understatement or what?), promposals were suddenly everywhere. Besides, hopefully, getting your date to say "Yes," your success could be measured by Facebook likes and shares, and YouTube views.
Here's a quick list of some popular promposals:
1. Filling someone's locker with flowers
2. Decorating cupcakes with "Will you go to prom with me?"
3. Cover (and I mean COVER) her/his car with post-it notes
4. Deliver a pizza with a "cheesy" message
5. Hang a banner across a highway overpass
5. Send your message via puppy or kitten
6. Spell out the question on his/her front lawn with silly string
7. Paint it on the side of a cow (not for urban schools)
8. Hijack a movie marquee
9. Buy a charm bracelet with the letters P-R-O-M and ?
10. Make a music video
So ... how did my daughter's date ask her to prom? I'll tell you. You see, I'm not just her mother, I'm an accomplice. My daughter's date and their mutual bestie texted me several times. They needed to know when she would be at the stable where she keeps her horse, so they could go there and surreptitiously plant le promposal. Between schedules shifting (hers, theirs, mine), it was about two weeks before the actual event went down.
My daughter arrived at the stable for her riding lesson and was suprised to see her friends there. She was even more surprised when they insisted that she introduce them to the resident goat. "LuLu" was wearing a special cape (brilliantly made out of an old tee shirt, with the collar intact but only one wide rectangle below). It read:
Will you goat to prom with me?
Of course, her answer was "Yes."
He had her at "goat."
If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
Having grown up in New York City, I'm used to crazies. On the sidewalks, on the subways. In delis and doorways. Some are angry. Most are harmless. All are really sad.
Greater Boston isn't immune to these characters. They panhandle at intersections and I slip them a couple of dollars when I can. I keep a roll of ones in my glove compartment just for this purpose — right next to my precious Sacred Heart of Blessed Jesus Auto League medallion, a gilded plastic premium item I once received in a direct mail fundraising package.
It can't hurt, right?
These encounters aren't confined to cities either. I spend an inordinate amount of my life in a Dunkin' Donuts on Boston's North Shore. It's about a mile from my teenage daughter's stable and has WiFi. I typically order a large hazelnut decaf with skim milk and nurse it for the hour and a half or so that my daughter needs for tacking, riding and untacking her horse, typing away on my laptop all the while. This particular "Dunks" attracts the usual suspects: high school students buying super sweet frozen Coolattas, young mothers breaking soft bagels into pieces for their toddlers. And, of course, a handful of crazies.
One older gentleman comes and sits with me sometimes. The restaurant has a half dozen or so tables for two. I'm only a single, obviously, and if the whole place were full and someone really needed a seat and the seat across from me was the only empty seat left in the entire place ... well, that makes sense. Right? But no, this dude comes and sits across from me when there's no one else sitting down at all. The first time it kind of freaked me out. Now, I just roll with it.
There's also a young woman who sits alone at the other end of the donut counter. We're maybe twenty, thirty feet apart. But, this doesn't stop her from talking to me ... FULL VOICE.
"DO YOU KNOW WHAT I'M DOING THIS AFTERNOON?" she yelled to (at) me across the store the other day.
"Uh ... no," I shrugged with a friendly face.
"I'M GOING BOWLING! DO YOU KNOW WHY BOWLING IS THE BEST STRESS RELIEF THERE IS?"
"Uh ... no."
"BECAUSE YOU CAN PICTURE THE FACE OF THE PERSON YOU'RE MAD AT ON THE PINS BEFORE YOU KNOCK THEM DOWN."
Truth. Crazy, but ... truth.
So, here I am, the only sane person in the bunch. At least, that's what I tell myself. Until I take a closer look.
I'm usually in the middle of a hundred different things when my daughter shows up at my office door with that impatient "Mo-o-om, we're going to be late" 'tude, so it's rare that I arrive at the donut shop in what you might call a pulled together state. Often I'm still in yoga pants and a sweatshirt purloined from my husband. Chances are, I've thrown the work I need in a tote bag and have my arms full with laptop, cables, and mobile phone.
Have office, will travel. Welcome to the 21st century.
Once I acquire my tasty beverage, I tend to spread out at one of the tiny tables (unless, of course, my gentleman caller mentioned above happens to be there). But from then on, everything I do is perfectly rational. Absolutely normal. N-o-r-m-a-l. For example ...
I write advertising copy, and then read it (out loud) to make sure I've said what I think my client needs to say. It's very important to read aloud, you know. That's how you catch awkward phrases. The process itself isn't awkward at all. Especially in public.
If there's no agency work to be done, I go through back issues of The New Yorker, dissecting each magazine and creating piles: to read, to toss, to pass along. No one minds the tearing sounds, do they? And, the activity certainly doesn't resemble anything related to OCD, right?
Work or play, my behavior is completely apropos. And heaven forbid I use the time to actually relax. "Too much time, too little to do." Wait! Reverse that.
Of course, all of this busy work does lead to a certain amount of stress. But, that's okay.
I can always go bowling.
If you enjoyed this post, order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.
