Aug 11 2007
Maggots
(Names have, of course, been changed and blah blah blah…)
I believe it all started when I said something profound and eloquent, like, “Dude, Mr. Paul, your son is hot!”
Mr. Paul was remarkably thrilled to hear me say this. Mr. Paul and I went way back. I was a senior in high school, but I’d been in one or another of his choir classes every year of high school. This year, I was in the snooty choir–the cream of the crop. The Madrigals.
In years past, I’d seen how the Madrigals, a very small “show choir” had bonded and adored each other. This year, I think everyone bonded but me. I never really felt like I was part of the group. I don’t know why. I was at least as well-trained, if not more so, and I was certainly from the “right” socio-economic class that the whole group was from (they didn’t exactly embrace diversity in my high school). Still, there was just something about them (or, more likely, me) that didn’t quite mesh. (Maybe it was that whole goody-two-shoes, let’s put big bows in our hair and skip off, arm-in-arm, to a Michael McClain concert, reminding everyone along the way how much better we were than everyone else. Yeah… maybe that was it…)
Matt (who was not in the choir) called them Maggots. The name stuck.
But whether or not his Maggots adored me, Mr. Paul always did. He was incredibly kind and supportive–always a light, even during my darkest senior-year-gloom. For some reason, he thought the world of me. And when I took an interest in his son, Tony (who attended a different school, so I’d never met him before running into him at a concert one night), Mr. Paul was very pleased.
One day, I asked Mr. Paul if he thought it would be okay if I were to maybe ask his son out. Mr. Paul nodded his approval. In the back of my mind, I knew that my girlfriends were getting a group of us together to ask some guys to Morp (Morp was a school date-dance–”Prom” backwards–girls asked, attire was casual). I thought maybe I’d ask Tony to Morp. Maybe.
But, see, a few days later, I found myself in an interesting situation with a different, but equally interesting, young man named Mike. Mike and I’d been flirting for about a year by this point, and I guess Mike had finally decided to make his move–which resulted in the two of us making out in a most undignified manner on the floor between the rows of chairs in the school auditorium.
An excellent way to pass an afternoon.
So, thought I, I’d better not ask Tony to Morp. I really should ask Mike.
But!!! Not so fast!!! Because, see, a couple of days after that, Bryan showed up at my door. In a suit. With 18, yes, EIGHTEEN gigantic long-stem red roses. Asking me to Prom. Not Morp, PROM. MONTHS in advance. I recognized that this was likely the beginning of an actual relationship. Wait. Relationship? ME? Like, a BOYFRIEND? Sigh. I guess this meant that I should really ask Bryan to Morp.
But, I really wanted to ask Mike. So I guess I’d ask Mike.
But, no, I wanted to ask Tony.
But, I really SHOULD ask Bryan.
Sigh. What to do? My girlfriends were getting antsy. “Come on, Brill. Who ya gonna ask? We’ve got to start making plans. Come on!” Easy for them to say! They all had a special person of interest–an obvious significant other to ask.
But I, oh, I was so conflicted! So, I did what any psychotically over-dramatic rational girl would do: I sought therapy–in the form of ditching class and going to Wendys with Matt and his (straight) friend Tommy.
“What am I going to do?”
“It’s easy,” Matt said through a mouth full of french fries. “You’re going to ask Tommy. Everyone knows that you two are just friends. This way, it just looks like you decided to go with a friend. No one’s feelings get hurt.”
“Interesting… and… hmmm…. kinda perfect!!!” I said. “Wanna go, Tommy?”
“Sure,” he said, much more interested in his hamburger than in our conversation. And it was settled. Poof. Easy.
And OF COURSE I have the dance pic:
And of COURSE the pic requires a long and obnoxious explanation:
There’s me and Tommy, on the back row. Just before the pic was taken, Tommy says, “hey, wouldn’t it be ironic, since we’re like the only couple here who isn’t a couple (or wannabe couple), if we look like we’re about to kiss each other?” Ummm, sure. Why not. Alas, the picture was snapped in just such a moment that I look more like I’m about to bite him, rather than kiss him.
On the middle row, you have Hannah (the brunette) and date (who is quite possibly the biggest soap opera story EVER from our group of friends… certain to be told in some future humiliating post) and Jewels (blondie) and date. On the front row, you have Kate (in the lovely denim vest, matching MY lovely denim vest) and date and Leslie, whose date is none other than Donny Osmond Jr (who is the spitting image of his famous father, minus the purple socks… I think).
Enough! On with the story…
So, Tommy and I had a lovely time in a very “what a relief to be hanging out with someone who’s just a friend” kind of way. Bryan and I began dating soon after. And, oddly enough, Leslie and Mike started dating after she and Don Jr. broke up. So, everyone was happy, right?
Nope. What took me longer to realize (because, as I said, we were never real tight anyway) was that the Maggots weren’t speaking to me. They were angry with me. Why? Simple. I was supposed to ask Mr. Paul’s son to Morp. And they were all furious with me that I hadn’t.
Uh… did I miss something? Had I made an announcement at some point that I would be asking him? Was it in any way any of their business? Was it not just one stupid, simple little dance??? Had I asked for their snippy gossip advice?
No, I hadn’t.
I kid you not–they held this against me for the rest of the school year.
Gosh, what an honor to be a Maggot, eh? Don’t you wish you were one too?
—————————-
And now, for the rest of this week’s Soap Opera Sunday participants:
Wanna play too? It’s open to anyone!!! Rules and explanations are here. If you’re participating this week, PLEASE remember to link your post back to me and my fellow conspirator Kate so that your readers can find the whole soapy list!
