I don’t have a terribly embarrassing high school yearbook photo, and I never skipped outdoor recess to play Dungeons and Dragons in the library. I was witty and got along better with adults. Cute, but didn’t have any interest in wearing full makeup to school, slash…ever. I didn’t even known how to use it, as evidenced by the one day I DID attempt to use some concealer to cover the dark under-eye circles my father so generously passed down; my mom politely informed me that it wasn’t supposed to look like a nude-hued football player’s eye black.

So when it came to being asked to the Prom, let’s be honest here, I didn’t have any real prospects. There was one boy. We’ll call him Spencer. He was in my AP Biology class, got better grades than I did, and wrestled for the school in the Under-132 lbs category. By no means a “catch” by high school standards, I was pretty sure he was going to grow up to be one of those Maury Povich “Nerds to Knockout” success stories. So I felt pretty good about getting in on the ground floor of a future hottie. Plus he was way smart and I knew hot jocks grow up to own used car dealerships and nerds grow up to invent things like Facebook or Spanx. So enlisted my friends to not-so subtly encourage him (OK, fine, make him) ask me to Prom. But I also offered to go Dutch because I’m not a total sociopath.

The night was fine.  We went with a group of other unlikely couples. We got our awkward photo, where his hand is placed precariously just below my left breast and we both look sufficiently uncomfortable standing butt-to-crotchal region (My dress was also handmade by my crafty mother. Later shortened to attend some other function in college. Let’s here it for Midwestern thriftiness!) I think we went out to dinner, then piled in Ben’s car (i.e. his mother’s Subaru) to get to the venue downtown. I danced the whole night to Eminem and Britney’s greatest hits, and Spencer…well I don’t know what he did the whole time, because he had no interest in “grinding” on me, as the other sweaty youths were doing.

He later dropped me off at my friend Kaitlin’s house where the gals were having a sleepover. Spencer bid me goodnight with a half-hearted wave and a “That was fun.” Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the recreation of “A Walk to Remember” I was hoping for (I didn’t become mysteriously ill and no one proposed!!??), but I went to my Senior Prom, had fun with my friends, and my date was definitely going to be a real catch in 5-10 years. And since I was his Senior Prom date, that gave my precedence over any other 2-bit whore he meets in college who tries to marry him.

Flash forward 5 years. I was home visiting my parents and as luck would have it, my high school bestie, Carolyn Ashe, was also home. So we met at a local watering hole for a drink, to gossip about people who gained weight, dropped out of college already, accidentally got pregnant…as you do. All of a sudden Carolyn said, “ohmigod, is that Spencer?” It was! And, spoiler alert! I was totally right. He was tall, well built and totally adorable. (Lesson to high school girls: meeting men is a marathon, not a sprint. Put in the work early and hope for the big payoff. The hottest guy in school, by that time, married his high school girlfriend and they already had 2 kids. “Friday Night Lights” isn’t just a TV show, it’s a cautionary tale, kids). Carolyn confirmed that he did, indeed, grow into his looks and gave me the green light to flirt.

Spencer saw that Carolyn and I are blatantly pointing and rubber-necking to get a better look at him, and being the more mature one (which I knew he would be! Totally nailing it!), he walked over to greet us. We exchanged hellos, how-are-yous, why-are-you-in-town-because-it’s-not-a-holidays, all while I’m thinking of the best way to slyly sneak in “Listen, I know we never hooked up on Prom night but I can make it up to you, tonight.” While I was thinking of ways to not sound like a date-rapist, I suddenly heard my future husband say “…finished seminary school and now I’m at a parish in Minnesota.” Umm what? Seminary school? In my good ear??? It sounded like you said you said the only wedding ring you will ever wear is to signify your marriage to God. Without much to commiserate on that one, Carolyn and I quickly wrapped up the conversation and he sauntered back to his table that I can only imagine was full of other do-gooders.

A Priest?!?! My mind reeled as Carolyn and I laugh, but I couldn’t help but think: this is my fault, right? I broke the cardinal (no pun intended) rule of Prom! I didn’t even kiss him, and now he’s gone and joined the cloth. One lousy Prom night with me and this man gave his life over to Jesus? I wasn’t a cool, self-aware kid at all! How could I have missed this glaring mistake? Were there signs? Did he offer to turn my water at Applebee’s that night into a wine cooler? I can’t remember!

So my plan didn’t exactly “work out,” but I still think the most important take away here is that I was totally right! Take that, more popular girl whose date still works at the Sendeck’s super market! My guy might be a priest, but that’s better than bagging groceries when you’re flirting with 30!!! Granted, I should have done more Facebook stalking to see who got cute, but didn’t come out of the closet or dedicate their life to Jesus. Thank God I was such a prude in high school and, more importantly, didn’t ask him to hookup in my mom’s minivan that night. I can sleep soundly knowing he didn’t have to do 5 Hail Mary’s to save my slut soul.