Diary of a Mad Senior
April 18th, 2002
Diary of a Mad Senior
It's prom time. I'm not excited. Every prom story I've ever heard has ended in heart break. But prom is mandatory, it seems. My elders tell me if I don't go, I'll regret it for the rest of my life.
So! I'm sick of asking girls out. I've done it for four years in Stuy and it's gotten me nowhere. I'm adopting a new strategy. If you've ever liked me, if I've ever liked you, if you think you might have ever liked me, now is the time to rise to the occasion.
That's right, I'm waiting for one of you out there to ask me.
You might say to yourself, or to me, "Why is he doing this? Does he want to come off as a total pompous ass?"
And I'd respond, "No." And then I might ask you to the prom. And then, I might quote Green Day: "Nice guys finish last. [I'm] running out of gas. [My] sympathy [has got me] left behind."
See, in these four years of failed romances, I've killed myself being nice to the fairer sex. I've dragged in cans of paint and faked artistic talent, I've baked, I've listened, I've tutored, I've been sweet and kind and nice and available.
And apparently, that was all wrong. I was too available; there wasn't enough mystique. I was too nice; there wasn't enough intrigue. I wasn't enough of a pompous ass.
I'll let you in on a little secret. It's not changing-I'm still a nice guy. Really. This "pompous ass" thing is just a fa��ade to get a prom date. You don't need to worry about dragging an asshole in tow to the prom, and I won't embarrass you in front of your parents or your friends. I can't imagine any parents being unhappy to see such a fine young Jewish boy, going off to Stanford, with such earning potential at their front door on prom night.
Just think, with such a lack of a love life, I've had very little opportunity to engage in impure activities; I have yet to become desensitized to the simple sins of flesh. With as high a purity score as mine-Ricketts 88-for those of you keeping score, you don't need to worry about a date who slips you tongue or tries to slip you out of your dress (unless you want).
A night of carefree fun, a final hurrah of high school. All the while without needing to worry about fending off a sex-crazed maniac at the end of the night. I leave it up to you. Fill in the ending with whatever you want the perfect prom night to be.
It's a good start, finding a prom date on the op-ed pages of the school newspaper, but it's the storybook ending that counts. And, even if it doesn't work out perfectly, it'll be a great story to tell. Don't dream it, be it.