The whole American-ised (or should that be -ized?) prom-do-night was yesterday. My hair was cut (into a French boy style, apparently). I scrubbed, cleansed, toned, inhaled steam, face-masked myself, manicured, pedicured, applyed full body mud mask, make-up, etc etc, until the cows came home. Five forty-two, to be exact. The cow was me, and I arrived at home late, only to rush off in a stressed way five minutes later, my dress tangled around my legs, applying the finishing touches in an attempt to normalise my face.

The Highlights:

• Arriving in style. Royal blue bentley. Got a few looks - we were
  classy!
• Dancing with The Boyfriend, who overcame his dancing phobia, and boogied with the rest of them.
• Dancing. With Mr D, who was voted favourite teacher. To Build Me Up Buttercup. He was very drunk, howling at the ceiling and staggering into everyone, with a grin and an "iloveyouallyouaremyfavouritepeople" look on his face.
• The Year 11 riff-raff looking normal. In fact, beautiful. And smart. We were glowing!

There were a few lowlights also. Such as the mangled feet by the end of the evening. And the sense of anti-climax and great sadness as everyone left at midnight exactly.

Tomorrow will be less of a non-day.