MommyTime over at Mommy's Martini -- WHAT?! you haven't been there? Oh you have to go! They're lots of fun over there -- had a blog Prom Night last week. I'm going to call it Promapalooza because I feel like it.
Well, I missed it because I got back from vacation and had actual work to take care of -- I KNOW! That's what I said, too! But, late or not, I have a little prom story to share.
No romance, no lust, no alcohol or drugs of any kind. No expensive limos, no interesting clothing -- nothing much to report at all. Except one little story.
I was part of a group of kids who made up the nerds, the band geeks, the brainiacs, the actors, artists, writers, scholars, etc. The interesting kids. The Kids Most Likely, to be sure, only I wasn't one of them. While I was definitely one of the group, I had cheated on the entrance exams, I think.
Anyway, a core group of 4-5 guys were the glue that held the group together. I went to the junior prom with one of them when I was a senior. There were maybe 10 of us who went out to a nice dinner first. We all ordered chicken cordon bleu, or something similarly uncreative.
All except for Sam. Sam swam upstream in most things. Sam had painted his bedroom neon green, and had plaster garden statuary in his room, just because. In hindsight Sam reminds me of Jerry Seinfeld: cute, funny, excitable and neurotic.
So instead of chicken cordon bleu, Sam ordered calamari. (I had had it before, and while dog poop would taste good if you breaded it and dropped it into a fryer, I didn't care if I ever had calamari again, breading or no breading.)
What we DIDN'T know was that Sam was not sure of what he was getting.
All of the chicken dinners arrived, but Sam's did not. He had to wait a little longer. We all started without him.
When at last the calamari did arrive, it was parked in front of a disbelieving Sam. We were eating and weren't paying much attention. Sam's mouth had unhinged. On the plate in front of him was a squirmy mass of marinated, not breaded, purple octopus, looking every bit like a purple octopus. No breading, nothing to disguise the pieces that once were suction cupped arms. A headless, but otherwise whole, baby octopus adorned the plate like the winner of some sick sport. Sam began to protest, his voice getting more and more high-pitched and desperate, just like Jerry Seinfeld. He was entering panic mode.
"That's not what I ordered," I remember him saying. I think technically he was right, because calamari is squid, and this looked like octopus to me, too. But the other guys near him assured him that, Yes, that's calamari, although none of us had ever before seen calamari in all it's naked purple glory. Sam was not hearing any of it.
In his best Outside Voice, Sam declared, "THERE'S TESTICLES ON MY PLATE!"
Stunned silence. We were embarrassed and bewildered. All except Kevin, my friend and a guy on whom I had a terrible, unreturned crush. Kevin had the unwavering ability to decode what any of his goofier neurotic friends were thinking. He leaned over and spoke just loud enough for us to hear.
"Uh, Sam, that's TENTACLES."
I'm not sure how long it may have been before we were again able to eat, but it took the rest of the dinner for the laughter to fully subside. And that dinner was far and away the best memory of any prom I attended.
(Photo stolen from "M" Pearl on Flickr)