Ah, homecoming season. You've got to love it. The designer-label dresses, the ornate flower corsages, the over-the-top up-dos, the glittery nail polish, the strappy little stilettos hmm, what's that?
Oh, yes, yes, boys go, too. I think.
No, they totally do. I distinctly remember there was a king at my high school homecoming. Sweetest boy. Poor thing had to wear some ridiculous-looking rip-off of the campy red-velvet Imperial margarine crown. He looked like a demented court jester.
Gosh, now that I think of it, I'm not sure his picture even made it into the yearbook. Hmm. Well, it may have, but only after all the advertisements and parental well-wishes in black-and-white at the very back.
How can I say this gently without hurting any kind gentlemen folk who may be reading um, homecoming, like so many other things in life, boys, is SO not about you.
At all. Like, not even a little bit.
Other than serving as a chauffeur and photo prop for your date, you're pretty much just window dressing here, guys.
Well, that's not entirely true. You do need to dance with your gal pal - at the very least to the slow songs - and clearly not better than she or with any other girls unless, of course, you want a very quiet, long drive home. Indeed, the wrong moves here could negatively impact your likelihood of escorting this same young lady to sweetheart and prom later in the year if you're so inclined so tread lightly, chums.
Either way, just be prepared to be part of the scenery. Heck, think of it as practice for your wedding day several years down the road. I digress.
My little stroll down homecoming lane came courtesy of my girlfriend's confession that her 17-year-old son wanted to take his date to Chipotle after their magical autumn high school milestone.
"Chipotle?" I said, my blood turning cold at the thought of some poor little gal in a skin-tight gold sequin mid-calf gown with matching eight-inch pumps and clutch trying to navigate her way through the 12-mile-long line that always awaits the patrons of that particular fast-food establishment.
Beads of sweat formed on my forehead as I further envisioned her biting into a burrito, only to destroy the entire ensemble. Not to mention - what if she has been selected as queen? What will the ladies-in-waiting think of their highness displaying the crown amongst flying nacho bits and dangerously near permanent stain-worthy salsas? Don't even get me started on the certain disaster awaiting the innocently clueless boy who dares gulp down any form of beans in the company of royalty
In some countries, I do believe this is grounds for a 17-year imprisonment within the most dank, dreary underground cell of the castle.
Anyway, after my girlfriend and I shared a hearty belly-laugh, I said, "No, really, where is he taking her after the dance?"
She and I were incredulous that he and his buddies seemed completely unaware of their relegated status to manservant at this function.
"He didn't understand," she shared, telling me how she had to break the news to her son that, although he was paying for the tickets, the photos, the meal and likely several other aspects of the homecoming, it is, has been and ever shall be all about the girl.
"Might as well get used to it now," his dad offered desolately.
Look, men have (arguably) a myriad of life advantages, including but not limited to:
a. You can roll out of bed looking presentable with nary a stitch of makeup on your face;
b. You can stand upright, eating a sandwich, carrying on a conversation and swilling down a beer during the entire birthing process of your child;
c. You can publicly spit, belch or un-wedge underclothing without judgment; and
d. You need only find a remote tree to answer the call of nature.
So just let us have this, OK? Happy homecoming season!
Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist and lover of all things homecoming. Send her pix from your favorite high school dance at firstname.lastname@example.org.