By accident, I unearthed the only surviving photo of me in a perfectly fitted tuxedo (rented, of course) and bow tie, heading to my junior prom. At the time, everyone had “+a white sport coat and a pink carnation+” playing on repeat, and there I was, looking like I’d actually read the dress code.
Boy, I look good. The photo itself is in terrible shape, but my grin, crewcut, and cummerbund are still hanging in there. It was a night to remember—even though it now qualifies as ancient history. My date, Diana, and I went to dinner first at A Sabella’s restaurant on Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco. She looked terrific; we were the picture-perfect prom couple, posing by the window, trying our hardest to look sophisticated while loudly broadcasting “teenagers” from a mile away.
Two especially memorable things happened at the restaurant. First, Diana ordered mahi-mahi for her entrée. When our meal arrived, she looked at her plate and asked me, “Is this the same fish as Flipper?” I assured her it wasn’t, but that was it—she wouldn’t touch it. She ordered some other harmless-looking local fish and was instantly restored to good spirits.
The second thing happened as we were leaving. The way in and out of the place involved a kinda long stairway. Being the polite date I was trying to be, I walked behind Diana as she descended. About a quarter of the way down, she slipped and gracefully transformed the rest of the stairs into a personal slide, landing at the entrance in one dramatic swoop.
It was a spectacular sight; fortunately, the only damage was to her pride. Still, through her tears, she blamed me for the accident. Probably because, the instant she slipped, I did the least chivalrous thing possible: I burst out laughing. Let’s just say that did not rank high on the Gallant Date scale.
We survived that little disaster and still had a great time at the prom and all through high school. We’ve checked in with each other a few times over the years through that dumb site “Classmates.” I’m guessing I’ve been forgiven; she told me she even told her granddaughter the whole story—and how much fun it all was. Thanks, Diana.
