Ever squeezed into a dress and couldn't get out?

And I don't mean the little second, where it's tight and you're worrying 'Shit, I will never get out of this dress', but the really, very realistic realization that you are, in fact, stuck, in your dress. Ever, EVER made that experience?

Lucky you, if you haven't.

Shit, I feel for you bro, if you did.

Because I do. Right in this one instant, I exactly know how you, my friend, felt. And it's crappy. Like fuck-my-life-it-doesn't-have-any-kind-of-sense-anymore-so-i-could-just-kill-myself-with-my-dads-gun crappy.

Because, Ladies and Gentlemen, here I am, stuck in my dress at Prom night.

Yay me.

Really, why am I still alive? I should have already died of embarrassment. I was sure my cheeks were red like a tomato, just like the rest of my body. Partially, because I'm a flustered mess and also because I've been squeezing this dress up and down my upper body in desperation to finally get it off.

But, of fucking course, no such luck. I'm stuck. Like stuck-to-any-kind-of-object-because-you-dripped-instant-glue-on-your-finger-and-didn't-notice-up-until-that-point-where-it-sticks-for-real- stuck.

Now, it's not like I'm fat or anything. Or that I bought a dress that wasn't my size. In fact, I even bothered to buy a greater seize than mine, because I didn't want it to stick my womanly parts, looking as if it was painted on. But guess what, it didn't just stuck to my skin, it stuck to my whole body, probably never getting off, until I die of embarrassment and hunger and humiliation.

I can already see it, in the news, the tragic story of a plain girl on her Prom night, dead because she dared to even remotely doll herself up. I could see the police coming in, taping off my room with they're 'Crime Scene' tapes and the humiliation that my Dad was sure to have.

He would say "I don't know why she did that. Plain people just stay that… plain. I tried to talk her off, but she wouldn't listen" and then sob, for good measure.

Oh, I totally saw what was coming on me. The gossiping gals, breaking off their jaws, because of all the scandalous things that happened to me. I was sure, someone was going to blame suicide and others were going to cry and claim that they liked me the way I was. Oh, what, what mortification awaited my presence. I was rather dead.

"I can't believe, why they don't make these dresses with zippers!" I cried out in frustration. You would have thought that a not-so-dressy Prom dress would have a zipper. But of course, in my rush to get it over , I had to pick one of the very rare dresses which wouldn't stretch but had no zipper!

Why was I even bothering with this?

Oh right. Because my mom forced me to!

You know the first thing normal girls would do when they had a problem with their dress on Prom night?

Call their friend. Or even their mother.

That's where my situation failed. I had neither.

No, that was put very wrong. I did have a mother. Just not beside me. In fact she was very far away in Jacksonville with her new husband. If she forces me to do this, why isn't she beside me to even experience it? Because she thinks it will help me along in life?

Fuck yeah, because Prom's so important, yeah…

Prom is only the exception to party legally and have your first sexual intercourse after, or during. Or as I like to call it: have your first coitus.

I giggled at that thought. I was such a dork.

A/N: There are truths in here. Guess, what is true. True guessing gets the first few people a reward. What kind of reward, I do not know yet, but I'm sure to think of something. Maybe a sneak peek for the next chapter? Whatever. Review please!