Pimples are the Lord's way of chastising you.

I’ve never been one to have qualms about going to a movie by myself…but I will admit that I had a smidgen of shame when I walked up to the counter all alone yesterday and asked for a ticket to the matinee showing of “The Prom.” In my defense, I had a gift certificate and a need to see something incredibly light and clichéd—plus I’ve always had a thing for teen movies. Still, when the cashier kind of smirked at me, I was glad my face was partially obscured by the hat I was wearing. And then I got annoyed that I felt embarrassed in front of the chick who runs the mid-day, weekday shift at the Regal Cinemas. Who is she to smirk at me? (OK, yes, she has a job and I don’t, but I’m also not swathed in maroon polyester. Perhaps we’ll call it a draw.)

Anyway, after hitting the concession stand (with the same judgmental cashier, I might add), I headed to the theater. (BTW, one matinee ticket, a small popcorn and a small soda? NINETEEN DOLLARS. Thank God for gift certificates). For the first time in my life, I was the only one in a movie. The glee I felt at the notion I could pull out my cell phone and text at any moment (take THAT, “Please be courteous” promos!) was quickly squelched the creepy vibe an empty, mid-day theater apparently emits. But I got over it.

The movie was exactly what I expected, and thus exactly what I wanted. It fulfilled every teen movie cliché (apart from “kids from different groups bond over alcohol/pot”—this is a Disney film, after all). Mostly, though, it just made me feel old. My prom will be fifteen years ago next week—most of the stars of this film were in diapers then. Oy.

Plus, the “bad boy with a heart” had a mother played by none other than 90210’s Emily Valentine (the original 90210, kiddos, not that travesty they show on The CW now). And Emily Valentine has NOT aged well. On the plus side, she seems to have gotten over her mental issues (burning down the homecoming float) and turned into a sensible, hardworking single mother.

I felt slightly placated when The Cranberries’ “Dreams” (a song that very likely played at my prom) started playing at the movie prom. Granted, it was a cover of the song by a band I’d never heard of called “Passion Pit,” but nonetheless, I will cling to that mid-90s reference as I sign that I am not completely past my prime.