I’ve seen it all a million times before on Facebook, in novels, and on television. Homecoming, the one night that an entire high school can forget about the test they failed or the game that was lost and just dance it all away. It all seemed like a fairytale, the hair, the make-up, the dresses, until it happened to me.
The preparation was exhausting, and almost comical. Starting the process three hours before I was supposed to meet up with my group? It seemed a little ridiculous until I’d finished with three minutes to spare. My brother’s girlfriend, Katie, was completely in charge of my hair, make-up, and dress that day. She’d ordered me to shower, blow dry, and straighten my hair the night before homecoming was even taking place! She arrived at my doorstep at 1:00 on the dot to begin the torture. Starting with a thick moisturizer for my face and itchy bronzer for my legs, I could tell it wasn’t going to be a fun afternoon. By the end of the three not-so-bad hours, I felt like a princess in my pink dress and silver sparkly stilettos.
I was exhausted simply by getting ready, and didn’t want to think about what the night had in store. By the end of the picture taking process, my cheeks were numb from smiling so much. I eagerly, but mindful of my high heels,  got into the car of Mary Beth Bobula, ready for a warm plate of pasta from the Touchdown Club. It was my first time there, and I couldn’t wait and try out the basil pesto offered. When the largest portion of pasta I’d ever seen with salmon resting upon the bed of spaghetti was placed in front of me, it was hard to keep my appetite. The one way to ruin something as glorious as basil pesto is to add fish to it. I accepted the fact that I’d just have to remain hungry until the dance ended.
Finally, we arrived at the high school. After teachers checked our tickets, we walked down the faux-red carpet and entered to the growing mass of bodies and booming bass of the DJ’s speakers. My group of friends immediately went to the cafeteria to replaced our torturous heels with bare feet or sneakers. It didn’t take long for people to start dancing, and fifteen minutes into it, I was sweating more than I had sweat all summer and tennis season. However, I was wearing a dress with thin straps. The boys of homecoming easily sweat more than I did, with their long dress pants and long sleeve shirts. Most took off their jackets and used ties as sweatbands. Many girls were eager to show off “what they’ve got,” and while the girls who decided against such decisions sneered and whispered things like “look how big her butt is in that,” and “oh my, God, does she seriously think she looks good with that hair?”, many guys appreciated what the bolder girls chose to wear. Later in the evening, the entire commons’ area WOOOed in joy as the familiar first beats of “Gangnam Style” by PSY boomed out of the colossal speakers. Everyone began to dance to the special choreographics for the Korean song, which almost look like you’re mimicking a cowboy, and everyone shouted/sang the only English in the song: HEEEEEEY, SEXY LADY!
At this point at the dance, I laughed and smiled like it was my job. It was all hysterical and so much fun. Looking back, I realize that not only Gangnam Style, but Homecoming altogether, brought Latrobe together, even it was for only three hours. I know it probably happens every year, but it was refreshing for me, as a sophomore, to see people who can bicker forever in school finally get over themselves and have fun. It’s something that can be practiced any day of the year: if we focus on what’s really important, we’ll all enjoy each other so much more.