Tarred and Scarred
Last year was my prom, and I was hoping it to be a night to dream about. The guy I had been dreaming about going to the prom with asked me out well in advance. I selected a figure fitting ivory gown and a matching set of heels. Every detail was lining up fine except that my mom had to work and could not see me off. The limo came to get me and take me to my date's house. Upon arrival, his parents met me at the base of their drive. Before my hand was cold, she had gone to get my date and he went after a camera. At that point, I saw my boss, Jennifer, walking up her drive two doors over. I just had to show her my dress. I cut straight across the grass and came upon the drive of the house between. Right then, disaster struck, as the driveway had just been tarred mere minutes earlier. The guy was beside his house, near the back corner, still laying it down. I slid down on my back, then rolled and slid twice more from a prone position trying to get traction with my heels. When I got to my feet, I was about 3/4 covered, head to toe, with fresh tar. My $340.00 gown, $75.00 shoes, and $120.00 day at the salon were just a black, gooey, smelly mess. As if this was not bad enough, just then six of my classmates happened along. They all laughed out loud, and one took a picture with her phone and showed it at the prom. My mother got off work and got me in a pick-up bed for the ride home. After peeling myself out of my dress and hose, it took my mom hours to get the tar out of my hair and off of my legs, face, and breasts. I reeked of gas the next two days.
— Clarice, 19