It's a hilarious catastrophe

Absolutely everything went wrong.

First, the “Stephanie-tastrophe.” I wasn’t there, I didn’t see it, but I showed up in the chaotic aftermath to discover that, through some bizarre accident involving a straightening iron and a paper towel, Stephanie’s hairdo had caught on fire. All of the other girls—Talia, Rachel, Corrine, Amy, and Elizabeth—were running around frantically, trying to fix the situation.

By the time the girls were finally ready, we were way behind schedule. With only minutes left for photographs, our parents rushed to capture lifelong memories on film, shouting at us from all directions. It felt like being lined up before some crazed, incompetent firing squad. We didn’t get a single usable photo of the group.

When we got in the limo, we discovered that the air-conditioner was busted, and by the time we arrived at prom we’d been broiled by the summer heat.

Still, once we actually started dancing, everyone had a lot of fun. It didn’t hurt that my cadre of female friends all looked so unbelievably sexy as to be practically criminal. I made a point of ogling each and every one of them at various points during the night, backing up the beautiful memories to my mental hard drive.

For my money, Elizabeth outshone all her friends: