Why don't we get together after the dance?

Running son and date (Sammy), who permitted photos before going to the prom.

A little history is called for here: there has been little in the way of going out with girls during RS's tenure as a teen boy. What with the jobs where he works just enough to pay for, what, his incidental expenses, the upkeep of the party shed, his sporting activities . . . oh, I don't know, and I frankly haven't cared, because it's just one more thing to worry about. I guess the point is, there's been none of this kind of activity before, and now, he presents himself in a tux . . .
















. . . the wearing of which, of course, presents its own challenges. Here, his dad helps him to deconstruct the tie (previously: I helped him to buckle the silly vest around his extra skinny waist).















Handsome boy, pretty (smart, tall) girl. I haven't had a report about the overall event, though at some ungodly hour when it was all over, RS and his friend Dustin came by in civvies, with treats, to watch the Jazz game, which he had recorded. I arose to unlock the door, which entailed much flurrying and settling of dogs. By decree, I wasn't allowed to say a word about the outcome of the game. I really hope the dance was more fun.