It was 1989, I was singing along to Poison 'Every Rose has a thorn'. My mum and dad were working, so it was just my hair lacquer and me. No need to worry about tan lines because no-one faked tanned and tan lines were everyone's permanent summer accessory.
I was wearing a Studebaker Hawk dress bought with hard earned money I earned from working part time at Chicken World in Kenmore. The bottom was all tulle and hemmed with wire to ensure it was big. It hit mid calf. I hunted down perfectly matching purple stilettos. My father picked me up and took me to my BFF's house where we would meet our partners and limo.
Their Rottweiler ripped the tulle from the back of my dress. Then I stepped in it's massive poo and smeared it all over the carpet of the limo. Lucky, I was drowning in my signature scent Yardley English Lavender body spray, this may have covered the odour a little.
First, we had cocktails at the Brisbane Hilton. I was only 16 but they weren't as strict with I.D back then. I had a Pina Colada and snacked on their complimentary rice crackers. Then off to the formal at the Sheraton. We were feeling so grown up in our gaudy gowns. We snuck sneaky cigarettes in the toilets between courses.
Then we hit the dance floor. Who can resist Milli Vanilli 'Girl you know it's true' or The Bangles 'Eternal Flame'. I was like Madonna, working up a sweat with all my awesome moves on the floor until my zip broke. And it broke all the way. Not good for a strapless dress that didn't have a safety hook. I caught it just as it started to fall off, held to tight and ran back to the smoke filled toilets. I few tears and 10 minutes of giggling friends and it was okay.
No more dancing for me. Madonna had packed up her stilettos for the night.
Here is the only photo of my night.