You know the girl. The pretty one. The one everyone adores. The one that can do no wrong, always has it together, never has a bad day. I bet you can see her smiling face in your head right now. Does the image of that girl make you want to smile back? I doubt it. Not for real at least.
She’s not just the prom queen anymore anyway. She’s everywhere. She’s the mom that walks into school looking like she slept a full night and ate fairy dust for breakfast. It’s obvious her husband adores her and her kids must wake up looking like a Target billboard. She’s the one with the perfect body or perfect hair or at the very least the perfectly clean house. You know the one.
She’s the woman at work who magically balances her cute coffee mug in one hand and endless to-do list in the other. She’s the girl that’s killin’ it on the front row in your fitness class. She’s the lady at church who always bakes the cake, teaches the lesson, sits with the feeble, and sings a flawless soprano. She’s amazing, you think. And you’re not.
Perception is a funny thing when it comes to the prom queen. The assumption, I believe, is that she, herself, thinks she’s just as amazing as you think she is. She must know it after all. The chick has a mirror and we all know she uses it.
I’ve encountered the prom queen just as often as you have. I don’t always want to smile back at her either. Sometimes I secretly want to stick my foot out to see if she trips or leaps. [YES WRONG, but we’re all here for honesty and you know you’ve thought it too – sue me.]
The problem is though, that I know without a doubt that girl needs a smile just as much as the band geek in the back. I know because, well, I’ve seen The Breakfast Club about a hundred times, and also the truth is that I’ve been the prom queen a few times in my life. Once in 2002 in a royal blue sequin dress, and again a few months ago backstage at my daughters’ dance recital. Really.
It was obvious in 2002 [there was a K-Ci & JoJo song that made it official that night] but I was taken aback when I realized it a second time backstage at the recital when another mom called out among the chaos, “I need scissors! Anybody have a pair of scissors?”
Before I could answer, that mom looked right at me and said, “Allison, gimme your scissors. You’re the most got-it-together person I know. I know you’ve got a pair.”
And you know what, I did have a pair. There I was, sitting backstage, laughing with my gorgeous kids and my cute earrings, fully prepared for the evening ahead and making it look like a piece of flawlessly-frosted cake. Prom queen.
Just like that twinge I felt when I was slowly turning around the dance floor back in the day with the equally awesome and awkward king, at that moment it flooded right back. HOW insane. They actually think I’ve got it together.
Yep, I had the scissors in the bag, my kids were dressed and ready and I had even successfully showered that day. But you know what? The day before, those same kids barely got to school on time, one of them without her book bag because I’d overslept and shoved them out the door without it. That same week, I’d washed ONE load of clothes FOUR times because I didn’t have the brainpower or the energy to remember to put the rotten things in the dryer. And that very day, the actual day of the recital, I’d nearly had a meltdown in my office at work.
I mean, daaaaang prom queen, where you at, girl?!
I won’t lie, sometimes it feels nice to be the prom queen. In the finest moments, it seems better than the alternative. I’ll argue ‘til my death though, that the title is never permanent, it’s completely an illusion, and it’s never EVER enough to get you by in life on its own.
I recently had lunch with a friend that I’ve only gotten to know well in the last couple years. During the span of our friendship we’d established a routine to meet for lunch in town – me, always on my lunch break in heels and professional attire, and her, in whatever comfortably cute outfit met the needs of her day. When I told her recently that I was making a career change and leaving my job, she told me she couldn’t imagine what I’d be like without the always-put-togetherness that my position had required.
“It’s just a uniform,” I told her. And it was. Under the got-it-together-girl she thought she knew, there was just another regular ol’ messy woman in here. I think she likes that second girl even better. I know for sure that I do, but really, we’re one in the same. It’s just that perception either lays down the red carpet, or rips it right out from under us. We don’t even really get to decide.
So next time you bump into her, remember that some days, we queens just get lucky. Other days, we’re just trying not to let the drool drip out of our clarinet. (Believe me, I know. I’ve been that girl too.)
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