16th April, 2025
- Black Lawyer
- 2 days ago
- 3 min read
Entry No. 189: “The Prom That Ended a Marriage”
Filed under: Corsages, Confusion & Courtroom Couture
Dearest Diary,
Some divorces are born from betrayal.Others from boredom.And then there are divorces birthed by prom send-offs gone emotionally nuclear.
I was retained shortly after the boutonnière debacle, though no one calls it that in pleadings.
The court documents simply state: “Irreconcilable differences following Prom 2023.”
But oh, Diary. The truth is so much messier. So much shinier.
The eldest child—gender-fluid, fabulous, and allegedly the calmest in the house—had planned to attend prom. The parents? Less supportive.
More… possessive stage crew with bad lighting.
We begin with Wife. A woman of grace, grit, and updo expertise.
On prom day, she was preparing food for the send-off party, coordinating photographers, and steaming a blazer when her husband casually requested help with his man bun.
Now, the bun wasn’t the problem.The problem was that the husband, high-maintenance, and hair-fussy.
The wife, in heels and barely functioning patience, stopped everything to slick her husband's baby hairs into a samurai knot with the speed and emotional restraint of a stylist on a hostage rescue mission.
The daughter, meanwhile, entered the chat.
By “entered the chat,” I mean she stood in the kitchen monitoring how her dad watched the wife’s every move like she’d buried gold under the hardwood.
Rather than assist with food, photos, or literally anything involving their child, he asked:“Why were you upstairs for so long?”
Sir. The only thing that should be upstairs is your support.
The daughter descended in her prom dress and he asked about the location of his shirts. A quick swap, surely?
No.
The parents argued. For two hours.
The husband wanted a rhinestone teddy bear t-shirt.
The wife wanted him to wear “something classic.”
She suggested a collared shirt from a 2008 Easter service.
He wore the teddy bear. With rhinestones. With pride.
Husband, in an act of performative generosity, claimed to have booked a car service to take the child to prom. A black Escalade, to be precise.
What arrived instead? A 2010 Toyota Corolla with a busted aux cord and glitter in the cupholder.
The driver—bless him—introduced himself as “J-Boogie” and asked if they could Venmo him gas money in advance.
When Wife asked why the luxury car hadn’t shown up, Husband said:“Well, I didn’t technically book it—I intended to.”
Diary, I nearly billed him extra for emotional damage.
And yet, through it all, Wife held it together. Smiled for pictures. Reapplied lip gloss.Until the moment she caught Husband checking her location from the kitchen.
Not assisting.Not complimenting.
Just... stalking. On his phone. In her own house.
The party ended. The marriage, shortly after.
And now here we are, in mediation.
Husband wants 50% of the house. Wife wants 100% of the last word.
And I? I want peace, a mimosa, and for rhinestone teddy bears to be admissible as evidence of freedom.
Because sometimes, it's not infidelity.It's not finances.
It’s you didn’t book the damn Escalade.
I remain, as ever—Pressed. Petty. Prom-Ready in Court Heels.
Disclaimer:This entry is a fictionalized satire. Any resemblance to actual rhinestone shirts, fake Uber receipts, or man bun emergencies is entirely coincidental—but deeply likely.
Tag someone who knows a rhinestone teddy bear shirt is a personality, not a fashion risk.
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