Damask

Damask

So back in the 70s when I was in high school, I asked a girl* to the prom. To make sure I bought a coordinating corsage, I asked her what she was going to be wearing. She told me pink damask.

"Uh...," thought I, trying to hide my complete bewilderment.

So I talked to my mom who suggested, I don't know - the usual carnations and baby's breath or blah blah blah whatever.** So I get the flowers, make the reservations at the Supper Club, pick up my tuxedo,*** and go to pick up my date.

Oh, for Pete's sake. Completely wrong damask. Oh, sure, she was dressed in damask, just not the cloth type.

"OH MY GOD!" quoth I to myneself****

Needless to say it took me a minute to get used to the fact that I was going with a girl in fancy armor, who had, for some unknown reason (I didn't have the scrotum to ask), glued on a mustache. But we went and had a decent time, thought I've never been able to date anyone with a mustache since then. Or that wears armor. Of course now I envy her. It took me another four years to come out of the Gay Closet, but she came out of Renaissance-Fair-Geek Closet at the mild age of 17. Such a brave brave girl!

*Yes, a girl! Whadya want, it was the 70s in the middle of nowhere. It wasn't exactly Coming Out Central. (Although it woulda been much easier on me and several girls if it had been.)
**Which was very odd, because normally my mom could be pretty helpful in such things, but for her to say to me "I don't know - the usual carnations and baby's breath or blah blah blah whatever," was rather out of character.
***Here's a picture of me and some friends the next morning.
****I probably woulda just said 'OMG' but that wasn't part of the lexicon yet.