Becca Fitzpatrick

YEAR: 1997
LOCATION: Pocatello, Idaho
EVENT: Spring Fling dance

I grew up in Nebraska, but my senior year of high school my family moved to Idaho.  Even though the two states are separated only by Wyoming, moving was a big cultural shock.  For example, school dances in Nebraska were low key.  We had Homecoming and Prom, and Prom was held in the gym.  (Think Footloose).  In Idaho, school dances were a big deal.  We're talking one themed dance every month. The dances alternated between girl-ask-guy and guy-ask-girl.  My senior year, Spring Fling happened to be girl-ask-guy, and a few of my friends convinced me I had to ask Bo  (Really.  That was his name.  I swear.)  Here's the thing.  In Idaho, a girl can't simply call a guy up and invite him to a dance.  Nooooooo.  She has to invite him creatively.   

About a week before the dance, my friends and I got together and assembled hot dogs as part of our creative invites.  Catchup, mustard, bun . . . you get the picture.  Then we toothpicked notes into the hot dogs that read: YOU'RE A WIENER IF YOU GO TO SPRING FLING WITH ME.  We each placed a hot dog on a Styrofoam plate with our named taped to the bottom.  Our plan was to deliver the hot dogs to the houses of the boys we wanted to invite, ring the doorbell, and run.  

I didn't want anything to do with the hot dogs or the dance, but we're talking PEER PRESSURE here.  In my mind, I weighed my options: humiliation by hot dog . . . or no friends.  Humiliation by hot dog won out.  And that's when everything went wrong. 

I was so mortified by the wiener note that when it came time to write my name on the bottom of my Styrofoam plate, I scribbled my friend Emily's name instead.  Emily was already asking another guy and I knew at some future point this was going to blow up in my face, but at that moment, I couldn't bring myself to attach my name to the wiener note.  

So with Emily's name taped to the bottom of my plate, I crept up to Bo's front door, rang the doorbell and bolted.

The next morning wasn't pretty.  Emily called demanding to know how HER name made its way onto the plate meant for Bo. Bo had agreed to go to the dance with her, and now she had two dates and it was all my fault.  (Can't argue that.)  What followed easily makes it onto my top ten list of most embarrassing high school moments.  I had to call Bo and explain that by some slip of my hand I'd accidentally written Emily's name instead of my own.  I'm pretty sure he thought I was crazy.  I'm pretty sure everyone thought I was crazy.  But honestly?  You're a wiener if you go to the dance with me?  I can't be the only girl who would've chickened out.  

 

Anyway, here we are.  Bo and me.  Me and Bo.  Smiling through our teeth.  And did I mention the matching T-shirts?  Ah, got to love high school dances.