Prom is like a packet of chocolate digestives.

I didn't go to the Year 11 Prom. Back then I was barely out, had no boyfriend nor any idea who else was gay and interested. Now, I am completely out (I think), still have no boyfriend, and am even more clueless as to who is gay and interested. Perhaps it's worth noting that at the time of my Year 11 prom, I was aware of only one other "out guy", although neither of us were particularly interested in each other at the time. Coincidentally, by some bizarre circumstance we ended up 'dating' for a brief period of time during my lower sixth year. I'm not sure 'dating' is exactly the word here, since we never actually once went on a proper date nor did he ever show any interest in me once I'd plucked up the courage, half out of desperation, to ask him out. But I digress, back to the topic of being gay at Prom.


Another reason I didn't go to the Year 11 Prom was that I had been single for far too long - pretty much my entire life, to be truthful - and quite a few of my friends had a romantic attachment of some description. To me, the thought of watching other people make out in front of whomever cared to look while I remained sadly unwanted and unloved was a rather depressing one, and I knew that I would start feeling a little sick by the end of it. You see, I've always imagined that Prom as a single gay guy would be a bit like a massive packet if chocolate digestives: at the start it's great, but by the end you feel a bit sick from a) watching everyone get off with one another and you're sitting there like a plonker with only your horrible biology teacher and an empty bottle of J2O for company, and b) all the digestives you've eaten (you're now more than a little constipated). 

And there's always that lonely biscuit right at the end of the packet, when its companions have met their doom inside your stomach... 

So it will come as no surprise that the idea of sitting on my own with nothing but the evil Physics teacher and an empty half-a-bottle-of-wine this time round didn't exactly fill me with joy. Yes, we're apparently only allowed half a bottle of wine or something stupid like that. It's a bit rubbish, but don't judge.

Perhaps you're wondering why I bothered going at all then, given that I had no-one to go with, and wasn't about to give up feeling awkward about it. Well, despite my relatively slim chances, I decided to go because I'm a bit of a 'FOMO' homo - that's a fear of missing out homo (and I'm sure we'll come back to this in a few weeks time). I don't want to not go, because I'm terrified I'll miss out - partly because of all the banter I'd miss, partly because there's a minuscule chance that the man of my dreams is hiding somewhere amongst my esteemed former classmates just waiting to whisk me off into the sunset.

In my fucking dreams.

Any single person will tell you that the thought of going to the school Prom alone is probably their second-worst nightmare. The first-worst is clearly waking up to find they're out of Jelly Babies and Vodka. Maybe Prom will become more bearable for the single man/woman/shemale if he/she/they (not sure if that's the correct pronoun, will get back to you on that) thinks of it as that gigantic packet of chocolate digestives I was talking about earlier; after too much, it all gets a bit sickly.

Sorry for rambling a bit this week, I haven't quite been with it since.... well, since Mel started counting down the days 'til results day, frankly. I'll try and be a little less vague next week. In the meantime, you know where to find us.