When I was growing up, high school was not grades 8 to 12 like it is for my daughter. We had junior high, grades 8 to 10, and then high school was grades 11 and 12. Therefore, it was very important to not only have grade 10 grad, but to have a pregrad dance. For this dance, which was held at a downtown club, we bought new outfits, and took great care doing our hair and applying our make-up just right. When I was in grade 10, my best friend Kiki and I did everything together. She was so beautiful with her long curly main of brown hair which she plastered with hair spray between every class. She was so passionate about everything, that it was sometimes hard to take her seriously. I used to tease her about the romance novels she would hide inside her English text book and get lost in during class. Once, she got our smartest friend to write her book-review for her and after presenting it to the class, she asked if there were any questions. Of course my hand went up, and I proceeded to torture her by asking her the definition of several of the multi-syllable words that were used in her presentation. Some might say that was mean, I say there's a fine line between mean and freaking hilarious! One day, in that same English class, she looked at me with big eyes and said that she had a doctor's appointment after school, due to a heart problem she was having. She described sharp shooting pain in her heart. I asked her if the pain occurred when she inhaled, and she excitedly said "yes, how did you know?" After explaining to her that it sounded suspiciously like gas to me, she indignantly denied that there was any possibility of that diagnosis. It was like gas wouldn't dare enter her body, and it had to be something much more dramatic. The next day, when I inquired about her visit with the good doctor, she solemnly reported that it wasn't her heart after all, but it was a "stomach related problem." ahem...gas. My Dad drove us to our pregrad dance, and Kiki's dad was to pick us up when it was over. Shortly after we made our grand entrance, Kiki began to complain of stomach pain. Naturally, I was like, "Shake it off, lets dance! The movement will do you good!" So I dragged my dear friend onto the dance floor, where we danced the night away. Her tummy was only getting worse throughout the evening, and I just thought, "somebody get the girl some alka seltzer before her gas problem puts a damper on the dance!" despite her tummy ache, we had a wonderful time with our friends, but when her father arrived to take us home, Kiki was relieved. She really wasn't feeling well. The next morning, Kiki called me from Richmond General Hospital, where she had her appendix removed after her dad dropped me off. I felt so bad for dismissing her complaints the night before, but she wasn't mad at me. I went to see her that day, and we spent the afternoon giggling so hard, she had to hold her stitches.