This weekend was Fall Break, and I just happened to be home in time for my high school's Homecoming.
This year, I decided,
I'll support the public school system that supported me. I decided to go to a football game.
It took twenty minutes for me to figure out what to wear. Why? Because I'm like that. It's this incredible inability to make basic decisions. There are heaps of clothes in my dorm room because I can never decide which shoes to pack, so I take both. So, I finally made it out the door, eager to watch the football team dominate... whoever they were supposed to dominate.
Actually, I never made it past the door. Instead, I swept it open and gaped at a downpour of rain, which had been the cause of a sinus headache earlier that day.
I'll support the football team, I decided,
after I change my clothes. Now came the exciting drama of which sweatshirt would puff the least under my raincoat, the answer (of course) being: none, as the raincoat itself is puffy.
My puff-n-fluff and I prepared to leave again, and this time got as far as the high school. There are two entrances that are on opposite sides of the property. If one is locked, cars must continue through another two miles with two annoying stoplights to access the opposite road. Of course, my entrance was blocked.
The parking lot was full, so my nervous car trembled into that ominous Pepper Spray and Just-Say-No territory that every place seems to have. By the time I reached the main lot, our team already had a touchdown, and was in the process of kicking the ball to get more points. I paid the five dollars, and was on my way in.
Throughout the night, I recognized four people from my graduating class, eight people from the seafood market, and a dozen members of marching band. (This is a consistent ratio for people I liked in high school.)
By halftime, the score was 28-0, and everyone was thoroughly damp, including me (in all it's glory, the rubber raincoat protects neither my head from rain, nor my pants from wet bleachers). The rain had cleared by second quarter, but then attacked the band's halftime show with double strength.
As a novice immorally-minded creature, I appreciate even the most crippling of ironies. So, I must remark on the Homecoming Court's shivering its way down the 50-yard line as the announcer semi-butchered a bio or two.
But let me say this: my darlings Anna and Zoe were crowned Homecoming Queen and Princess, and they looked lovely. Everyone looked great. I can't pull off that I'm-sitting-in-the-rain-but-I-still-look-good look, but if you're on Homecoming Court, you probably can. And they did.
I left after halftime, having gotten my fill of football, small talk, and memory lane. But despite the fact that everyone and everything was drenched, including one hundred dry-clean only band uniforms, everyone had enjoyed a fun night. It was time to go.
And as I walked out, the football team made another touchdown, the perfect fanfare as I drove away.
