I was stuck in the office, being BORED OUT OF MY SKULL, waiting for mother to drop me off at Kris's house, for general idiocy. At last, the time came, and I found myself lying on Kris's bed, watching George of the Jungle, smothered in a face mask, straightening my hair AND painting my nails. By God, I'm a multi-tasking GENIUS.
We tried on dresses, annoyed Kris's mum, watched Don't Tell Mom The Baby Sitter's Dead (hahaha, class film), ran around loony style, and got a lift to Emma's house. Which, I'd like to point out, is literally a thirty second walk away. But Brent would not let us walk. No. We had to be driven. Sigh.
Swathed in an array of shiny, polka dotty, velvety dresses, shawls and shoes, we arrived in style at Emma's. Emma opened the door, wearing her dashing PJs, all ready for the Prom. Apparently, Tweety is very fashionable. We watched Emma run round in a flurry of dress, make up and straightners, made Pimms, waited for Stalker, waited for Steve, and waited for Abi.
At last, everyone arrived, and we were on our way. Oh God.
I don't think I can be bothered to describe the Prom. It was lovely. Everyone looked beaaaaaautiful, blah blah blah.
We descended on Mike's house, where we killed the sofas, watched music channels, ate toast, and a certain few people giggled annoyingly, so that they were chucked out of the room. Sorry all. I will post the offended photograph the caused the havoc when Steve can be bothered to give it to me. Grr.
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