Maybe it is because of my first wonderful prom experience that I was filled with joy when the opportunity to attend the prom once again arose. A third cousin twice removed was planning to graduate from high school, and her father asked me to escort her. "Can I wear a tux?" was all I needed to ask. Nothing else mattered.
I've always had a thing for formal wear. It's no coincidence that I was number nine on Mr. Blackwell's Worst Dressed List this year. I have no qualms with wearing an evening gown and flip flops or a tuxedo with speedos. Mix and match is my motto. But I was not too sure of how to handle myself in an American prom. Americans have always missed the importance of formal wear and have trivialized it with such frivolties as accessories and corsages. I wanted to get to the heart of the matter. I wanted to make a statement: I am a man of the prom. But how?
I consulted a local fasion expert, Lance Dorehouse F.C.C. (Fasion Creative Consultant) who once studied with Isaac Mizrahi and Gore Vidal. He now works in the Hairy Guy Salon (All Cuts $7) in downtown Gainesville. Lance advised me to abandon my original foolish notion to wear a Levis All Man Tuxedo and to go with an Estee Lauder design instead. I had no idea that Estee Lauder even designed tuxedos, but Lance assured me that this was a true fact. As for shoes, we agreed on a nice pair of Hush Puppies, purchased at the mall for a very affordable $39.99.
When the fateful night finally arrived, I pulled up in the front of my cousin's home in a rented Buick LeSable. A four door model. We arrived at the Stephen Foster High School for the Performing Arts in grand style. She looked splendid in her white, evening gown and yellow rose corsage. I must say that I too was quite daper. All eyes were upon us that evening like salivating tigers waiting for the kill.
And how we danced! Those hits! "Paradise City," "Space Oddity," and that song by the Spice Girls. Such music these Americans have! As for afterwards. . . well, I'm not one to kiss and tell, but I will say that I am still the same romantic as I was on my first prom. Wanin Rahamin would be sick to her stomach if she ever realized what lips she sacrificed by marrying the sultan's son. A journalist wasn't good for her, hah!
All in all, I have not had such an enjoyable night in quite some time. The prom has lost none of its magic and allure that it had for me in the Sudan of my youth. What the prom brings to youth is a farewell to innoncense, a long kiss good-bye to the blackboard jungle of adolecense, and a bon-voyage to memories of note passing, lockers, guys who wouldn't shower in gym, and lonely nights in front of the Pic and Save, crying over the girl who wouldn't accept your letter and be yours forever. The prom is a slam book of all that is glorious in youth. And one thing is for sure. When my cousin, Mareehsa, twice removed on my father's brother's side, graduates in thirteen years, I'll be first in line asking for a date.
