This blog has been going long enough to give rise to the first hints of nostalgia for the early days, and Maria was one of my very first correspondents. I read one of her comments tonight on an old post, and that was what brought her to mind.
She came from Pittsburgh, or thereabouts, was very young, and I always imagined that when the day of the college prom finally arrived, she would be swept to the heavens in a mother-of-pearl landau with the quarterback of her choice snapping the reins in manly fashion. Hence the Prom Song:
Maria went out to the prom
Held at the school’s athletic track
Her beau approached with great aplomb
And threw her to a running back
They just slip out. Sorry.
Anyway, if this message in a bottle ever washes up on your shore, Maria, thanks for the memory. I hope you’re well and the touchdown didn’t hurt.
* * *
They’re silly things aren’t they, proms? We didn’t have them in my day; we just had bog standard discos as befitted working class kids. No gowns and tuxes, just winkle picker shoes and bootlace ties. (I’m kidding. I’m not quite that old, but this is a blog.)
And I remember getting into a spot of bother at mine. One of the school hard cases challenged me to a fight because he said I’d gatecrashed his girlfriend. I couldn’t say for certain whether I had or not, but he was probably right.
So anyway, the gauntlet was thrown down and accepted and the arrangement made: 7pm on Friday evening outside the local community centre. And do you know what? He didn’t turn up. Story of my life, really.