Meg Twomey and the Pouch of Importance

If this title sounds like a potential appellation for a "Harry Potter" knock-off movie, you're on the mark. Then if you recognize the girl to the left as Pansy Parkinson, your mind is indeed magical. And if you have made the obvious congruent leap to why I am writing a HP-themed blogpost, then you know that Yule Ball is rapidly approaching. T-minus 24 hours, exactly, until I meet up with Ms. Parkinson for entertaining pictures in Clodagh O'Mulligan's room, before dinner and dancing in the Great Hall. Pansy may be in Slytherin, but it's okay; I do have a Draco Malfoy thing going on with my hair these days (although it's not the bleach blonde that it used to be back in the pre-Hogwarts era of my life).

In Muggle-speak, tomorrow is the 2010 Winter Gala, now officially dubbed "Med School Prom." We all get to take a break, put away those nasty syllabi and lecture captures, and enjoy a quiet evening of dinner and dancing... or (more likely) the usual tomfoolery and general who-ha that goes along with anyone's senior prom. You remember senior prom, right? Classy experience from beginning to end. I went to two proms my senior year. The first was at Stone Ridge, and was a blind date with Marlie. I got shuttled into the scene because her friends needed to find someone in my friends’ group who was tall enough not to be intimidated by a lady in very high heels. No worries, even in my flats I was able to post up a good 3-4 inches above Marlie, and it was a grand time. I danced like no white person can, and then rode off to the post-prom party for Skyy Vodka and Smirinoff Triple Blacks in the basement (neither of which did I partake since I left at 5 AM from Potomac for swim practice in Olney - one of the best practices of my life, no homo). A couple weeks later, Prep's prom turned into an especially classy event, as Burnette's was poured into water bottles in the back of Ryan Hurley's car heading down Rockville Pike, police vehicles in hot pursuit (I'm kidding, Mom). No limo this time, just riding dirty in the back of the Volvo.

And so we medical students will attempt to recreate our senior year of high school, with all the awkwardness and drama that the event can withstand (perhaps with slightly better judgment this time). The drama has already begun, but our plans are now set. In an effort as romantic as Fred and George Weasley, I asked my Pansy in October and never looked back. Meg is getting ready at Clodagh's; Eric and I will arrive promptly at 5pm for pictures. Neither of these lovely ladies will be ready when we arrive, so we will have to talk awkwardly with their parents (yes, Meg's parents will be in attendance for pictures, and as will be Clo's roommates, Austin and Pinaki, our photographer). They will then come down the stairs and I will tell Meg how breathtaking she looks, which surely will be followed by the phrase, "Go kill yourself, Robby." I will help her put on her corsage, and hopefully she will pin on my boutineer without drawing blood. After 30 minutes of pictures during which I will try not to get too close so as not to look like a creep in front of the parentals, we will whisk off to dinner (Bandidos - what about margaritas and tacos doesn't say "tuxedos and long dresses"). No need for vodka-filled Deer Parks this time. Then, after dancing in our finest, we will head to the post-prom party (Players?), where we can hide from adults and play seven minutes of heaven in a closet... Or, was that middle school?

So, who says medical school can't be a magical education? All of us were given wands (stethoscopes) upon entry. We're basically learning a whole new language. There are cliques, feuds, competitions, Houses, muggles aka patients, a Head Boy and Girl, Prefects in each class, scrolls with "anti-cheat" software, romances, bromances, and of course, standardized tests. Sometimes I wonder to myself if I'm not really at an American Hogwarts.

And then I realize I'm not in an epic battle with that Dark Lord, in a fight between good and evil, and that there is no movie deal... and I'm disappointed. :(

(By the way, why the “Pouch of Importance,” you might ask? Because that's where Meg Twomey keeps all her important things, of course. Duh.)