the missing boutonniere

I went to my first formal in my freshman year of high school. My date was Robert, a long-time friend whose precociously rock-hard body would make his college weight gain of 100+ pounds all the more tragic. I did everything I could to prepare: buy a nice off-the-shoulder dress, cake my face with make-up, and curl my hair for the then-standard poufy hair look. My mom helped me through this whole process, improvising as best as she could for this strange American custom known as the high school formal. When Robert arrived at my doorstep, she already had her camera in hand, ready to take pictures of my date and me in our awkward get-ups. After a couple of snapshots, Robert slipped a beautiful red rose corsage on my wrist, which I stared at admiringly for a good two minutes.

"So don't you have something for me?" Robert asked.

"Like what?" My mom and I looked at him, puzzled.

"You know -- like a boutonniere?"

We had no idea what he was talking about. For all their features on prom dresses, shoes, make-up, and sex-related warnings, none of my Seventeen magazines had mentioned this thing called a "boutonniere." From the look on my mother's face, her sources had failed her as well. Robert was of course very understanding about this insignificant detail, but my mom's mortification stayed with her for the remainder of my high school years, causing her to hound me before each subsequent formal into buying boutonnieres long before I had to.

My mom feels a similar sense of uncertainty today. When I told my mom that Gary and I got engaged, she congratulated me and immediately started worrying about engagement etiquette. Was she supposed to talk to Gary? What was she supposed to say him? What about his parents? Was she supposed to welcome them to the family? Is she supposed to throw a party? The list of questions went on and on, all surrounding the basic theme of how not to embarrass ourselves in front of Gary and his parents. Besides me, she asks everyone what to do, such as her sister, a random co-worker, and my sister (who, having no engaged friends and being the younger "I'm not getting married until much much later" sister, has no idea what she's talking about). I keep telling my mom that we'll figure it out together, that Gary and his family will hopefully understand our awkwardness, and that our family is not about stuffy formalities anyway. She understands all of this, of course, but deep down, I think the woman is still haunted by the missing boutonniere.