Lucianna and Tracey: We understand your therapist has suggested you talk to us about some of your high school experiences. What can you tell us about your worst Abbey memory?
Mystery Girl: First, I should preface this by saying that we don't fully appreciate how lucky we all were to have gone to school in a pre-digital photography era.
LAT (laughing): Go ahead.
MG: My most painful Abbey memory, although perhaps I'll think of more later, takes place at the Semi-Formal.
LAT (nodding encouragement): Ouch.
MG: My parents were notoriously cheap and didn't want to buy me a dress. I was deeply into my feminist stage though and had refused to take Home Ec so couldn't sew for beans. My sister, who is likely legally blind in at least three provinces, offers me a dress she bought at Le Chateau or Fairweather.
LAT: That couldn't have been too bad.
MG: Well, my sister has no taste and was twenty years older than me. So it's not really too far off from having your cheap colour-blind mother pick a dress for you.LAT: Ugh.
MG: She lent me a steel-grey sweater dress which would have been fine if a) it had qualified even vaguely as semi-formal wear and b) I had the figure for it. The picture I've included here is merely an image I found on Google. It's essentially this dress, minus the svelte waistline and trim thighs. Nevermind that my sister's four inches taller than me, so the hemline would have made a Mennonite proud. And it was winter, so I had nothing to wear but my ....
LAT (handing MG a tissue): Go on.
MG: .. thanks. My Capezio ankle-length cowboy boots. And to jazz the dress up, my mother lent me an orange silk scarf.
LAT (trying not to laugh): Not really?
MG: Really. It did justice to my perm.
LAT: You haven't mentioned the guy yet.
MG: Good reason for that. He was only going along as a favour to his best friend who was dating my best friend. The guy had no interest in my whatsoever and probably really went along just in case my best friend and her boyfriend magically broke up during the dance, so he could make his move. Anyway, it gets worse.
MG (sipping the cooking sherry while continuing): We get to the front doors of the Abbey, where, you know, Sister Norma is waiting. I think we were supposed to do introductions. But what I hadn't realized is that one of the heels of my boots had worn down so just the plastic was exposed. So the moment I stepped onto the floor in the front hall, I slipped and landed square on my backside. Right in front of Sister Norma.
LAT (smothering laughter): And?
MG: Well, I got up, kind of laughed a bit about it, and stood up, took one more step forward, and did it again. Sister Norma was not impressed. I know she thought I'd been drinking.
LAT: Had you?
MG: Of course, but it had nothing to do with it.
LAT: Did you finally enjoy the dance, at least?
MG: No. The guy I was with danced with my best friend, and even his best friend. Not once with me. I wanted to crawl under the floor. I was mortified. By the time the guys were dancing with each other, Sister Norma was back on me telling me that I would "explain this all to [her] on Monday."
LAT: So come Monday?
MG: I faked mono and hid for about six weeks in the crawl space under the front stairs at home. My family thought I was on retreat.
LAT: Thank you for sharing.
MG: Thank you.
With the exception of the part about the mono and crawl space, this has been a completely true accounting of one girl's experience of the Semi-Formal.
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