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May 3, 1999   CONTINUED e-mail e-mail to a friend in need



Dear Breakup Girl,

I was going out with a guy my senior year, and we were both terribly gothic [I know this is a loaded term right now. This letter was written "before." Whatever. Total red herring. Stay with us. -- BG] hip. (*snort*) He was a year behind me, so when Prom time came 'round, we had a very brief discussion of how ridiculous the entire thing was, complete with much scathing commentary on the bourgeoisie losers who would be going. Silly me, I thought the matter was closed, until said boyfriend informs me he will be joining the bourgeoisie losers at Prom with none of my friends. Um, hello? His explanation was, "You didn't ask me. She did."

Which was true, but I broke up with him just on general principle. Naturally, Prom time rolled around, and being gothic and hip, my natural inclination was to hover in a semi-conscious state of misery and darkness. However, for whatever reason, I decided that the best way to get him back (besides breaking up with him-- seemed to me that that was what he wanted anyway, so that was more a reward than revenge!) was to have -more fun than he did- come Prom time. So, three of my best friends and I packed up a borrowed convertible, put the top down, and took ourselves to an amusement park in another state. We had a blast. Reports from other sources informed me that he was miserable at Prom. Heh! I was happy!

Fast forward, fast forward, fast forward, after spending a bit of time hating each other, the ex boyfriend and I discovered that. . . we were really good friends. We still enjoyed each other's company, and had plenty in common, and consequently embarked on a very happy platonic friendship, which endures to this day. (He attended my wedding, if that's any indication.) Anyway, one year, post my Prom, it was his turn. He was still tragically hip, and single, and invited me to his senior Prom (his idea being, we'd go in combat boots and shake up the bourgeoisie losers.) I was a year out of high school, and had approximately zero interest in doom/glooming myself up just to shock his senior class. I said no. He didn't go.

So I had a damned fine time without him on my Prom night, he missed his because of me, and we both still got a great frienship out of the deal. Plus, a good story to tell when the "My prom was soooooooo horrible" game starts up. Anyhow, I just thought you, if not your readers, would get a kick out of story with a very simple moral. When bad things happen, have fun anyway, it won't kill you.

-- Saundra, who is now a soccer mom. (Karma's revenge for my thinking I was hipper than the bourgeoisie losers.)

PS It's probably my own, overactive imagination. . . I love the logo for Just Friends Productions, Inc. ... but I can't help thinking there're some sparks going on between the little cartoon characters because of that darling, whimsical, "we have a secret and we're not telling" gaze they're sharing.

Dear Saundra,

Excellent taste, overactive imagination. Hence the name of the company. (Though we didn't get that way from blowing each other off for Prom. ) Thanks for writing! (And for inadvertently doing some "it's not about Goths" PR.) Go team!

Breakup Girl



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