Things I Learned from my Exes, Part II: The Prom
by the Dating Diva

That which does not kill you makes you stronger, I've been told. Sounds like a description of your last relationship, huh? Whether he's a quick fling or a long-term affair, a high school crush, or an ex-fiance, we learn something from every guy. This is the first in an occasional series in tribute to these men who've taught me so much. Today's lesson: "Your insecurities are totally in your head."

I am going to tell you a story which for years I could not tell. It's the story of an experience so mortifying, so miserable, that I blocked the whole thing out. It's about an evening strung together of one excruciatingly painful moment after another. It's about an ego bruised, a heart crushed, a date gone bad.

It is the story of my junior prom.

Let's just say it was the kind of experience one can only talk about after years of therapy. . . Or in my case, discussing it a decade later with my date for the evening and discovering it didn't happen the way I thought it did.

I'll start at the beginning. It is the day before the prom, and Stuart -- a very attractive but not exactly studious young man whom I have asked to be my date -- calls to say he failed his Spanish exam and has been grounded. He can no longer be my escort. Seconds later my father discovers his daughter in tears. Seconds after that he's on the phone with Stuart's father: "I do not understand why my daughter should be punished because your son failed a test," says my hero, Super Dad, in a voice that would make even those mean football players who tease me cower. Seconds after that I have a date to the prom again.

But the damage was done. I was 16, after all, and no dummy. Never mind that we were friends, never mind that we had flirted all year -- these things could not change the now inescapable truth: Stuart would go so far as to purposely fail an exam in order to avoid being seen in public with me.

The tone for the evening had been set.

The middle is hazy -- due to the whole mental block thing I've got going. Highlights of the evening I do remember include:

• Stuart's refusing to dance with me
• The guy sitting next to me at dinner throwing up his appetizer of calves' brains on the restaurant table cloth
• A brief, yet painful, few minutes where I sat down on Stuart's lap and instantly regretted it as too forward but couldn't stand right back up because I didn't want to draw attention to what I'd done
• Stuart's refusing to dance with me
• A classmate pointing out that the hair cut I'd gotten that afternoon was an inch shorter on one side than on the other
• Walking into the hotel room someone had rented to find myself the only girl in a room full of boys watching a porn movie
• Stuart's refusing to dance with me

This brings us to the end. The very worst part. After the prom came the after-party. After the after-party I had planned a breakfast party. I had invited a number of people over for around 7 AM and had spent most of the preceding day making crepes. At 6:30 or so, I scurried home with Stuart to prepare for the onslaught of guests.

Which is how I ended up sitting in my basement with my date, several hundred crepes -- and no one else. Not a single other person showed up. Whether due to the after-party's extending well into the daylight hours or due to the fact that my friends clearly all sucked, I do not know -- but not a soul came over.

Stuart sat on the couch farthest away from me, as we tried valiantly to carry on a conversation. I couldn't look at him; I couldn't look at the food. Somehow I managed to keep talking -- but I knew the horrible truth. He thought I was a girl who was so unpopular she couldn't even get people over to her house for a party. He looked around the room nervously, afraid to look me in the eye, because he was so embarrassed he'd had to go to the prom with me. It had been a horrible evening from start to finish. Clearly he hated me.

We did not speak again for over a year.

When we did speak, we did not discuss the prom.

Fast forward: Last year we were at a party together. Before I knew what was happening he brought it up. "I just remember sitting there in your basement," he began.

I cringed. I waved my hands and tried to interrupt. I had long since gotten over highschool insecurities--but I was still not willing to think about that evil night. "We don't have to discuss this," I said. But it was too late. He kept talking. I couldn't stop him.

"I just remember sitting there in your basement. I remember it so clearly, you sitting so far away on the other couch. You seemed so together, when I was so nervous." he said. He paused. "And I just couldn't figure out a way to kiss you."

Oh.

It was a horrible night, a heart crushed, a date gone bad -- but, apparently, I did all the ego bruising by myself.