Monchichi, monchichi, oh so soft and cuddly....
I didn't attend my senior prom. My first high school closed after my sophomore year and my parents moved me out to BFE to complete my education. I participated as little as possible in events taking place at the new school, preferring (as some sort of private protest) to keep in touch with friends from my "real" school. This included my on again, off again (mostly off again) boyfriend Monchichi, so named by me because of his resemblance to the toy.
After a long "off" spell, Monchichi called me and asked me to go to his prom. Having vetoed my own, but not wanting to totally miss out on the quintessential senior experience, I agreed for 2 reasons, the first being that he asked me. Not much of a criteria, I realize, but I was young and stupid, ok? The second reason was he lived in a neighboring town and therefore I could attend his prom and not be supporting my new school in any way.
But why did Monchichi ask me to prom just 2 weeks before the event? He had broken up with his girlfriend and had already bought the tickets. Against his mother's advice to take the ex girl anyway, he called me who his mother reportedly hated even though we'd never met.
We didn't have much time to plan. I had hair and nails to see to, a dress and shoes to buy and a boutonniere to order. He had to make dinner reservations, arrange for the car, rent a tux and order my flowers. But he had neither a job nor money. Knowing that Monchichi sometimes dabbled in illegal activities, I told him, "Do what you have to do. But don't tell me about it." My pep talk worked because the evening did find funding.
When he showed up at my house on the big night, he was a few minutes late. He'd stopped at a grocery store and gotten my (orchid?) wrist corsage that was wilted and whose fragrance gave me a headache. I pinned the boutonniere on his lapel and tied mine to my wrist and we were off, in his friend's father's new white cadillac. All 8 of us. How to arrange 8 teenagers in all their formal finery in one car? Sit on your date's lap. That's right, all the girls piled on the boys laps, much to the detriment of our skirts, for the 40 minute ride to the restaurant.
What a sight we were, us four ladies walking on the arms of our gentlemen who were sporting top hats, tails and canes. The other diners' conversations lulled as they watched us promenade to our table. (A kodak moment, for sure, but alas, this was before the days of disposable cameras).
The restaurant served Spanish food in a hacienda atmosphere, complete with a classical guitarist. The food was divine! I don't remember what we ordered. But Monchichi and I fed each other the dessert. Dinner was over way to soon and then it was off to the Houston Club for the actual prom, another 45 minutes away.
When we arrived, we paired up and readied for the grand entrance. We took the elevator to the third floor. One of Monchichi's friends gallantly stood with his back holding the elevator doors open for the ladies, and then the other guys, and in a scene from an old movie gone wrong, he gave a little bow, tipped his hat, and gave his cane a little toss which he intended to catch as he exited the elevator. But he miscalculated and his rental cane fell into the elevator shaft. The 8 of us stood in the lobby listening to the rat-tat-tat of the falling cane, and laughing ourselves to tears.
We went in to the prom, had our pictures made in the arbor and got a table on the balcony. We sat talking for a while and then hit the dance floor. There was a live band "Pressure Under Glass", who was doing all the current 80's hits, covering them quite well, actually.
Much later in the evening, the senior class was assembled in the lobby to get their remembrance gifts, wine glasses for the girls and on-the-rocks glasses for the boys, both inscribed "Forever Young" 1987. I wasn't a part of the senior class, so I wasn't supposed to get a glass. But I told Monchichi that I wanted one. The guys (not sure who actually pilfered it) made sure I had wine glass in hand before the end of the dance, reasoning that not everyone attended the prom and surely there was an extra.
As we were returning to the ballroom I came face to face with every girl's nightmare. Someone else was wearing my dress! And it wasn't one of the other students, oh no. One of the teacher chaperones and I were dressed the same! I was mortified and so embarassed I wanted to leave right away. But Monchichi looked at me and looked at the teacher and told me, "It looks much better on you," and persuaded me to stay for the duration.
After the prom was over and we girls raided the tables for decorations, we headed home, and were dropped at Monchichi's house. The plan was for the group of us to change clothes and head to Galveston. Monchichi's dad had stocked an ice chest with beer and wine coolers and a different friend was driving. But I was confused. The new friend hadn't been to the prom and was in fact older than us, in his 20's.
And he'd been smoking. And I don't mean tobacco.
I pitched the fit to end all fits. I wasn't going with him. Monchichi could take me home right away. We were gonna get thrown in jail. We couldn't go all the way to the beach with all that alcohol in the car. We couldn't entrust Mr. High with getting us there and back safely. Uh uh. No way. Count me out.
Monchichi and Mr. High drove me home and the argument continued. I'm not going. How dare you put me at risk? I'm not going anywhere with that man. Etc. At about 2 a.m. Monchichi finally worn me down and I agreed to go, but I was worried the whole time, waiting for something to go wrong.
And it did.
Mr. High stayed with the car and smoked the whole time. He'd apparently brought enough marijuana for all of us and finding no takers, smoked it all on his own.
The friends went to another beach, leaving Monchichi alone to drink his way through the cooler full of booze .
The boys took me to McDonald's so I could use the sink and buy a little breakfast. But it was no good. I had fake nails on and couldn't get my contacts out. I had to have Mr. High remove my lenses. I didn't have my glasses. Neither did Monchichi.
I didn't have anymore money. Neither did Monchichi.
I didn't have a driver's license. Neither did Monchichi.
I spent the day hungry, blind, mad and terrified we'd get caught with all sorts of illegal bootie.
Mr. High got so high he passed out in the back seat and couldn't drive us home. I'd never driven before so I turned to Monchichi to get us home. He didn't know the way, he couldn't see and he was sick from the heat. Luckily for us all, I was an athletic trainer and knew what to do about the impending heat stroke.
I had Monchichi drive us to the nearest diner. I ordered one glass of iced tea and 2 glasses of water and asked the waitress for glasses of extra ice, explaining that my boyfriend was sick. And there in the diner, I massaged him with ice cubes on his wrists, his temples and the back of his neck. I held cool damp napkins on his forehead and neck, and sent him to the bathroom to sponge bathe. The ice, cool water, tea and air conditioning did the trick and we headed home.
As Monchichi drove, I put my contacts in and navigated. It took us 2 hours, but we made it home.
We didn't see each other for over a year after prom. I asked him for some of the prom pictures when we finally did hook back up. "Well...." he began.
"Well what?"
"There's only one." What? We paid $49 for an entire packet! Who had he given them to? "You know my mom doesn't really like you," he started again.
Yes?
"She cut you out of the pictures."
I was pissed. How could someone hate me so much without knowing me?
"She really liked my ex," he explained.
I had him smuggle me the remaining picture and we continued to be on again off again throughout my time in college. We had dated for 8 years before I found the inner strength to stand up to him, his lies and his cheating.
"In all these years, Monchichi, you've never even told me why you like me."
"I like your fiery little attitude," he answered.
"Fiery little attitude?! Bullshit! You know why you like me? Why you still chase me? It's because I haven't fucked you yet. Now if I haven't fucked you in 8 years, what makes you think I'm gonna start fucking you now?"
He had no response. What could he say? For Monchichi the conquest was everything. And I wasn't about to be conquered.
After a long "off" spell, Monchichi called me and asked me to go to his prom. Having vetoed my own, but not wanting to totally miss out on the quintessential senior experience, I agreed for 2 reasons, the first being that he asked me. Not much of a criteria, I realize, but I was young and stupid, ok? The second reason was he lived in a neighboring town and therefore I could attend his prom and not be supporting my new school in any way.
But why did Monchichi ask me to prom just 2 weeks before the event? He had broken up with his girlfriend and had already bought the tickets. Against his mother's advice to take the ex girl anyway, he called me who his mother reportedly hated even though we'd never met.
We didn't have much time to plan. I had hair and nails to see to, a dress and shoes to buy and a boutonniere to order. He had to make dinner reservations, arrange for the car, rent a tux and order my flowers. But he had neither a job nor money. Knowing that Monchichi sometimes dabbled in illegal activities, I told him, "Do what you have to do. But don't tell me about it." My pep talk worked because the evening did find funding.
When he showed up at my house on the big night, he was a few minutes late. He'd stopped at a grocery store and gotten my (orchid?) wrist corsage that was wilted and whose fragrance gave me a headache. I pinned the boutonniere on his lapel and tied mine to my wrist and we were off, in his friend's father's new white cadillac. All 8 of us. How to arrange 8 teenagers in all their formal finery in one car? Sit on your date's lap. That's right, all the girls piled on the boys laps, much to the detriment of our skirts, for the 40 minute ride to the restaurant.
What a sight we were, us four ladies walking on the arms of our gentlemen who were sporting top hats, tails and canes. The other diners' conversations lulled as they watched us promenade to our table. (A kodak moment, for sure, but alas, this was before the days of disposable cameras).
The restaurant served Spanish food in a hacienda atmosphere, complete with a classical guitarist. The food was divine! I don't remember what we ordered. But Monchichi and I fed each other the dessert. Dinner was over way to soon and then it was off to the Houston Club for the actual prom, another 45 minutes away.
When we arrived, we paired up and readied for the grand entrance. We took the elevator to the third floor. One of Monchichi's friends gallantly stood with his back holding the elevator doors open for the ladies, and then the other guys, and in a scene from an old movie gone wrong, he gave a little bow, tipped his hat, and gave his cane a little toss which he intended to catch as he exited the elevator. But he miscalculated and his rental cane fell into the elevator shaft. The 8 of us stood in the lobby listening to the rat-tat-tat of the falling cane, and laughing ourselves to tears.
We went in to the prom, had our pictures made in the arbor and got a table on the balcony. We sat talking for a while and then hit the dance floor. There was a live band "Pressure Under Glass", who was doing all the current 80's hits, covering them quite well, actually.
Much later in the evening, the senior class was assembled in the lobby to get their remembrance gifts, wine glasses for the girls and on-the-rocks glasses for the boys, both inscribed "Forever Young" 1987. I wasn't a part of the senior class, so I wasn't supposed to get a glass. But I told Monchichi that I wanted one. The guys (not sure who actually pilfered it) made sure I had wine glass in hand before the end of the dance, reasoning that not everyone attended the prom and surely there was an extra.
As we were returning to the ballroom I came face to face with every girl's nightmare. Someone else was wearing my dress! And it wasn't one of the other students, oh no. One of the teacher chaperones and I were dressed the same! I was mortified and so embarassed I wanted to leave right away. But Monchichi looked at me and looked at the teacher and told me, "It looks much better on you," and persuaded me to stay for the duration.
After the prom was over and we girls raided the tables for decorations, we headed home, and were dropped at Monchichi's house. The plan was for the group of us to change clothes and head to Galveston. Monchichi's dad had stocked an ice chest with beer and wine coolers and a different friend was driving. But I was confused. The new friend hadn't been to the prom and was in fact older than us, in his 20's.
And he'd been smoking. And I don't mean tobacco.
I pitched the fit to end all fits. I wasn't going with him. Monchichi could take me home right away. We were gonna get thrown in jail. We couldn't go all the way to the beach with all that alcohol in the car. We couldn't entrust Mr. High with getting us there and back safely. Uh uh. No way. Count me out.
Monchichi and Mr. High drove me home and the argument continued. I'm not going. How dare you put me at risk? I'm not going anywhere with that man. Etc. At about 2 a.m. Monchichi finally worn me down and I agreed to go, but I was worried the whole time, waiting for something to go wrong.
And it did.
Mr. High stayed with the car and smoked the whole time. He'd apparently brought enough marijuana for all of us and finding no takers, smoked it all on his own.
The friends went to another beach, leaving Monchichi alone to drink his way through the cooler full of booze .
The boys took me to McDonald's so I could use the sink and buy a little breakfast. But it was no good. I had fake nails on and couldn't get my contacts out. I had to have Mr. High remove my lenses. I didn't have my glasses. Neither did Monchichi.
I didn't have anymore money. Neither did Monchichi.
I didn't have a driver's license. Neither did Monchichi.
I spent the day hungry, blind, mad and terrified we'd get caught with all sorts of illegal bootie.
Mr. High got so high he passed out in the back seat and couldn't drive us home. I'd never driven before so I turned to Monchichi to get us home. He didn't know the way, he couldn't see and he was sick from the heat. Luckily for us all, I was an athletic trainer and knew what to do about the impending heat stroke.
I had Monchichi drive us to the nearest diner. I ordered one glass of iced tea and 2 glasses of water and asked the waitress for glasses of extra ice, explaining that my boyfriend was sick. And there in the diner, I massaged him with ice cubes on his wrists, his temples and the back of his neck. I held cool damp napkins on his forehead and neck, and sent him to the bathroom to sponge bathe. The ice, cool water, tea and air conditioning did the trick and we headed home.
As Monchichi drove, I put my contacts in and navigated. It took us 2 hours, but we made it home.
We didn't see each other for over a year after prom. I asked him for some of the prom pictures when we finally did hook back up. "Well...." he began.
"Well what?"
"There's only one." What? We paid $49 for an entire packet! Who had he given them to? "You know my mom doesn't really like you," he started again.
Yes?
"She cut you out of the pictures."
I was pissed. How could someone hate me so much without knowing me?
"She really liked my ex," he explained.
I had him smuggle me the remaining picture and we continued to be on again off again throughout my time in college. We had dated for 8 years before I found the inner strength to stand up to him, his lies and his cheating.
"In all these years, Monchichi, you've never even told me why you like me."
"I like your fiery little attitude," he answered.
"Fiery little attitude?! Bullshit! You know why you like me? Why you still chase me? It's because I haven't fucked you yet. Now if I haven't fucked you in 8 years, what makes you think I'm gonna start fucking you now?"
He had no response. What could he say? For Monchichi the conquest was everything. And I wasn't about to be conquered.
posted by TrisaTx at
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