Prom as a 29-year-old, Part 2

 

See my previous post for a more detailed description of my mind's eye memories of prom as a chaperone. Let me know if you want to read the down-and-dirty version of Prom madness on my Teaching Tumblr. :)

My students call me Miss G. My supervisor calls me Miss G. My colleagues call me just G. The kids who are being smartasses call me G-Money or G-Baby. This is a conversation with one of said smartasses.

My date and I were waiting at some tables outside—semi-chaperoning, mainly staying out of the blaring bass and crowds. A few students trickled through to say check out the scenery outside and ended up saying hello as well. 

(To be clear, my students know I’m single. I didn’t promise them I was attending the prom—in fact I mentioned that I probably wouldn’t go unless my guy went.)

One of my smartass boys—he is polite, but sarcastic as all hell (I call him Slim)—did the very suave head nod and commented, “Looking beautiful, Miss G. As expected!” and leaned in for a hug. He whispered in my ear, “I got this, Miss G.” and winked at me. 

My date stood up to shake Slim’s outstretched hand, when he introduced himself, “Hi, I’m Tyler. Ummmmm, Mr. G?” 

*                  *                *

So, yeah, Slim, “You got this.” I’m laughing and shaking my head…because let’s see, no matter how much feminism I’ve shoved down my kids’ throats, I still don’t think I’d ever be feminist enough to have my man take my last name, er, well, last initial.

Signing off...G-baby!