Queerie Bradshaw (l)
Queerie Bradshaw (l)

In some ways, law school is exactly like high school.

You have the same cliques – the partiers, the nerds, the over-achievers—and the same clubs—student government, future business-people, Christian society. We worry about the same things—where we’re getting drunk on Friday night, who’s sleeping with whom, what we’re going to do after graduation—and we are always broke.

Sure there are differences, but overall, law school is just a slightly more mature high school.

We even have school dances.

As a class representative to the student government, it was my job to help put on the “Thrift Store Formal” this weekend. We advertised it as “The Cheap Prom You Always Wanted,” and lured people in with promises of a professional photographer and kegs.

The drunken Tomfoolery and awkward dancing reminded me of my real prom, and I couldn’t help but take a walk down memory lane.

Stereotypically, people count prom as their first real date, a romantic night to make love to their long-term boyfriend/girlfriend. I saw it as an opportunity to buy a pretty dress, ride in a big limo and attempt to get laid.

My junior year prom was uneventful. I looked stunningly fabulous in my long red dream dress, blonde ringlets and homemade Austrian crystal jewellery, but the socialite after party I went to lacked any real sexual selection.

For senior prom, I took an out of town gay guy friend as my date. I didn’t look that fabulous (who let me think crimping all but my bangs was a good idea?!), but at least my dress was durable enough to survive the fight I got into when a country hick called my date a “fag.”

Since sex with my date wasn’t going to happen, I spent the evening flirting with a boy known for his well-endowed genitalia. However, between Jack Daniels and Wild Turkey, it wasn’t long before he was out of commission for the night.

Having struck out herself, my best friend took my hand and lead me to our limo, where a mutual friend was standing. Pushing him inside the car, we unzipped his pants and proceeded to attempt to give him head.

He has forever regretted saying no to us.

Disappointed and horny, we all returned to the party to see who was left. My best friend eventually found her fallback boy, but all I found was Jose Cuervo.

Having a pre-paid hour left on our limo, we drove around our little town enjoying the rest of what was supposed to be the best night of our lives.

On the seat to my right, my date and guy friend were giving each other hand jobs. To my left, my best friend and her fallback boy were having full out sex. And sitting between the four of them, three soon to be lesbians watched the kissing scene from Chasing Amy over and over and over again.

In the end, high school prom beat law school prom. The decorations were better, my dress was prettier and the closest thing I had to a limo this weekend was my Subaru.

Worst of all, even though a drunken friend pushed me up against a printer and attempted to kiss me, I got a lot closer to action ten years ago.

Despite these minor differences, it was still apparent that, at least formally, law school and high school are all too similar of monsters.
There goes my hope of ever growing up.