It’s not nice to brag. And it’s not honest to make your life look better online than it really is. But I just have to tell you.
I bought this. For six whole American dollars. And it has alllllll the pieces.
I know. I know!
So Barbie Queen of the Prom came home with me. And my friend Jen saw it and lost her damned mind. And I was reminded why I like her so much.
Long story short: we conspired to throw a surprise Barbie Queen of the Prom party for our unsuspecting husbands.
We bought them tuxedo t-shirts and fashioned boutonnieres and corsages out of Dollar Store flowers. We had tiaras and a cake with a Barbie in the middle of it, so it looked like the cake was Barbie’s ball gown. The boy dogs wore ties and Ruby wore a “dress” fashioned out of an old tank top.
It was a to-do.
And then there were our prom dresses. We hit a variety of thrift stores looking for the ideal get-ups. Jen found two numbers that cost a combined $11 and created an instant professional wardrobe should she ever decide to become a model on “The Price is Right.”
I had a slightly harder time finding a gown. It is not as fun shopping for a prom dress when you’re no longer shaped like a junior. In other words: BOOBS.
So many dresses. So few that would zip up.
I loved this one for the “Dynasty”-esque power of those shoulder pads. It made me want to curl my bangs and slap Alexis Morrell Carrington Colby Dexter Rowan in the face.
And then there was this beaute. I will admit that I was embarrassed to carry this monstrosity across the store because it was the color of a traffic cone and the size of a small rental car. A family of four could live in the skirt. And I had to use the handicapped dressing room because the gown wouldn’t even fit in a regular one.
All of this work? And then the back was about 18 inches from closing up in any sort of meaningful way. But at least we have photos.
I finally settled on a very boring navy bridesmaid gown. The woman at the checkout got wistful.
“I wish I had a reason to dress up,” she said.
Somehow, I morphed into someone magical like Dolly Parton. And I was all, “Honey, you do! My friend and I just made up a party because we wanted to dress up! You should do it!” And she laughed and was inspired.
I was inspired to go to Joann and EXPERIENCE THE CREATIVITY. After a mere hour of wandering aimlessly, I walked out with six floral accent butterflies, six yards of tulle, and some safety pins.
This is what happened.
And yes, I’m wearing my wedding headpiece, adorned with extra ribbon. Because why not?
About halfway through the night, I realized that our blinds were open and people could see what was happening inside our house. We closed the blinds, like we were doing drugs or something. Because honestly? A home prom when you’re in your 40s and obsessed with Barbie Queen of the Prom is … difficult to explain to the neighbors.
The game itself was pure chance. I kept landing on a space wherein I had to wait for Midge, delaying me from the important work of getting a boyfriend, joining a school club, and buying a prom dress. Fucking Midge.
My darling husband won. My Guy was crowned Queen of the Prom! Doesn’t he look proud?
In the days since the party, the game has stayed on our buffet – in a place of honor, but also because I don’t know where to put it. My Guy’s aunt saw it in the background of a photo and freaked out.
“Next time we’re together, we can play Queen of the Prom! I used to have that game!”
OMG. Yes. A thousand times, yes!
And then she killed me dead.
“Dad played that game with me when I got it and he was Queen of the Prom. So your husband is following in his Grandpa’s footsteps!”
I’ve never been so proud.