Senior Prom

The first thing you notice when you walk in

to the senior center for its annual prom

is how cold it is in there.

The second thing you notice is the woman

with her tits hanging out in a low cut

white dress with big flowers all over it.

Her cross necklace dangles just above

her cleavage, like an arrow pointing

where to look.

The third thing you notice is the group

of men watching her every move.

The fourth thing you notice is the group

of women standing in front of the food table.

That’s where you head. That’s your tribe.

The gossip is strong, and centered on Ms.

Big Tits. The women have already agreed

that she’s there to find a rich husband.

The joke is on her, because the rich men

have already been snatched up. And the guys

enamored with her chest would no doubt

fall asleep while suckling.

The women toss around favorite words like

floozie, which basically describes any woman

whose arms are bare. They spear meatballs

with angry little forks while they compare

how much more proper they are than the floozie.

But they’re my tribe, so I munch grapes

and nod in agreement.

The women outnumber the men four to one,

so competition is fierce. We all know

that you can still have sex in your 70s and 80s,

but it’s a short window. The average is something

like three times a year, and that’s bragging.

The music is starting, and some of these gals

know how to shake a leg. A lot more than a leg

shakes of course, but you know what I mean.

Women are good at dancing in groups. Men

hover around them, hoping they’ll get lucky.

The highlight is naming the Prom King and Queen.

Supposedly a panel of judges selects them based

on some obscure merits, but it’s probably just

really Ruth sitting at her desk and drawing names

out of a hat.

One woman says that Ms. Big Tits better not be

named queen, or she’s walking out. She won’t,

but it’s important to let your tribe feel

the solidarity.

Finally, the king and queen are announced,

their photos taken for the celebrity wall;

everyone danced a few times; all the meatballs

and cheese cubes disappeared, and it’s been

a long two hours. We’re all ready to head home.

Ms. Big Tits is hanging on to Barney’s arm,

and she’ll be surprised when she finds out

he lives in a nursing home the other side

of town.

The rest of us walk out into the sunshine,

happy no one croaked on the dance floor,

and probably one or two are thinking

about a nap.

Kudos to the senior center.

We had a great time.