I never went to prom.

However, at the age of 53, I did attend a Cambodian wedding celebration, which I believe goes one step better.

In order to attend the wedding, and be properly respectful, the first order of business was getting a Cambodian dress.

That was easier said than done, however, because the Cambodian people are small and I am not. So I had to check my vanity at the door as Jen and I wandered the stalls at the market in Phnom Penh trying to find a skirt that would fit. Woman after woman would size me up and down and then, either with a laugh or a bemused face, shake their head “no.”

At long last, we found a woman who had larger skirts and, lo and behold, it fit, with room to spare. This was after shucking my skirt and changing into the wraparound that they would sew to my size in the aisles of the market. Modesty also needed to be left at the door.

Unfortunately, the rust skirt didn’t match the “super fancy blouse,” which was a brilliant shade of emerald green, that Jen had instructed me to bring for the wedding. So off we were in search of a matching blouse. This ended fruitfully, but as the proprietor of this stall did not have the usual sheet to change behind, also included me stripped down to my bra in the full view of God and everyone else. Shopping in Cambodian markets is not for the faint of heart.

Outfit in hand, we took the bus the next morning to the (almost) coastal village, where the reception would take place. The groom was the host brother of the Young Adult in Global Mission volunteer in that area — Jen and her husband Matt are country program coordinators for the ELCA program — and so Jen was invited and I was her “plus one,” with Matt still stateside.

We did not attend the wedding — that took place in the provinces, where the bride was from, over a series of days the preceding week. Those affairs involve ceremony and pageantry that is hard for us to comprehend. The bride had 17 dresses for all of the various facets of the wedding and reception. I saw six and there may have been more.

On our drive back to Phnom Penh, we witnessed a parade of people with both hands full of gifts of fruit and food to present to another bride and groom at 6:40 on a Sunday morning, so I got a glimpse of what I missed with the ceremony.

But we were invited to the finale, grand event — the reception.

Before we could go, though, we needed to get fancied up. I am not someone who wears a lot of makeup, and my idea of a good haircut is one that involves no work, so let’s just say that this is outside of my wheelhouse. Even on my own wedding day, I kept it simple — only a ringlet of roses in my hair.

So this was my “prom-like experience,” two hours of a group of wonderful Cambodian women crimping my hair — reminding me of the good old ’80s, the best era for my kind of hair — into ringlets that formed what Jen described as “goldilocks hair” and finally weaving it into an amazing series of knots that ended with a rose secured in the center. My hair must have been very confused. It has never had an experience like this. Prior to this, it’s only claim to fame is that I have no gray and don’t color it. The end result was astounding.

Then it was on to the makeup.  I am in theater, so I have worn stage makeup, but this took it to a whole new level. And false eyelashes graced my eyes for the first, and I suspect only time ever. (My eyelashes are the one part of my face of which I am proud. They are long and full.)

As all of this was transpiring, Jen kept joking that of all the things she ever expected to do with me over the years, a “girl’s day” with Pastor Paula would have been last on the list. She thought rock climbing and an exploratory journey to the moon more likely.

By the time we left the shop, I was, without question, a new me.

So off we went to the gala. I used to joke to my boys when they were in high school and talking about prom themes (since they were class officers) that “One Night in Bangkok” was a perfect theme. Well, different song and focus, obviously, but my “prom” was “One Night in Cambodia.”

And it did feel like a souped-up prom as we entered. There were women in stunning dresses that represented every color in the rainbow and then some. The men were less formally dressed, but nonetheless, sharp in brightly colored silk, short-sleeve shirts in a classy Khmer style.

Except for the groom, who donned at least six different suits, like his bride. And an assortment of groomsmen or men in waiting, who were sharply dressed in silk suits of brilliant blue as we entered under an arch of woven flowers that led to a canopy of running blue and flickering white lights that simulated a twilight sky.

At the end of the canopy was a love seat with a background to take photos.  Hello, “One Night in Cambodia — Paula’s Pseudo Prom, circa 2017.”

Once inside the venue, we saw a huge hall full of tables set for 10, full of cans of beer, pop and water for the guests, an open airy place with the river in the background. We were seated in the front, as a sign of honor, since we were guests from another country. I felt incredibly sorry for the young man who ended up seated next to me, as my Khmer conversational skills were sorely lacking.

Over the next few hours, people came in and were fed whenever the table was full, starting in the back, so it was a while before our table had food. But when it did, it was worth it.

The food, served family-style with a lazy Susan in the center, just kept coming, eight courses in total, with some incorporating numerous entrees. We had nuts, vegetables, nearly every form of meat from beef and pork to duck, a variety of seafood including stuffed clams, octopus and a seafood stew, cow intestine — a delicacy I choose not to partake (I am still recovering from the Burmese cat intestine I ate trekking in Burma/Thailand in 1988) — and a whole fish.

The meal ended with a truly amazing gelatin or tapioca-like substance in a coconut sauce with palm fruit. One of the people at our table saw the relish with which I ate it and offered me her’s as well. Politeness and diabetes be damned, I accepted with gratitude.

All the while this was happening, a five-piece rock band with at least three male singers and five female singers/back up dancers entertained us with nonstop Cambodian top 40 songs.

Once the meal was over, the celebration began in earnest. In many ways, it was so much like an American wedding, and yet so very different. “Same, same, but different,” as the locals say.

The guests were all encouraged to gather in two lines, to make a path for the bride and groom — now clad in a Western traditional bridal gown and tux, with a Cambodian flare — to walk down. We threw flower petals as they passed us and then lit sparklers to shower them with blessings. (I was a bit afraid with the fire and the amount of hairspray in the room someone would combust.)

Then, after paying homage to their parents who were now seated in front of the band, in what felt like part of a very traditional ceremony, the couple gathered at the huge table of fruit in the center of the dance floor. Silly string shot out, poppers exploded with confetti, and people showered them with small fake $100 bills to encourage wealth and luck, I believe.

The bride and the groom took the stage at this point, where “same, same but different,” was exhibited in full force. The groom threw out the bouquet to a gaggle of waiting men.

The groom then poured a magnum of champagne over a stack of glasses that filled at the next level as the upper level poured over the top and the parents and the couple exchange toasts. (I discovered at our tables toasts are popular in Cambodia, as after very few bites, we would hoist our glasses for something.)

After the band leader — who reminded me at this point of the cheesiest of DJ’s —encouraged the couple to share their first public kiss while he was making noises I can’t really describe but I invite you to imagine (whatever you are imagining, I think this was a hundred degrees more),  the couple fed their parents the first bites of fruit. Then, quickly, people began grabbing the fruit off the table, and the bridal party had their first dance.

Then the rest of us were encouraged to join and I did so gleefully. I was made for Cambodian dancing. It involved shuffling your feet to the music while you move your arms around gracefully as you walk in a circle. Several Cambodian women joined me, showing me what I decided were their “signature moves” as we circled the fruit table. They were all so gracious, and one woman asked me if I was happy. Indeed I was. Two kind men even joined Jen and me for a three-step move that had us exhausted.

Having eaten my fill and danced my heart out, it was time for us to leave. By the time we did, many of the others had left as well. As we left, there we were about 40 men and a handful of women still dancing in a circle around a table of what remained of the fruit in the center of the floor.

Which, Jen assured me, was just like prom.