Susan Mary Kovolski here, the one and only senior news correspondent entrusted with E.L.H.S.‘s weekly video bulletin. Our station in Room B008—known to some of you wisenheimers as “the Boob Room”—has been bustling with end-of-the-year information to announce, which I’ll get to shortly. But first, allow me a few moments to usurp these airwaves with an urgent message regarding tomorrow night’s promenade, which, much to my chagrin, has not been themed “Gallant Knaves and Renaissance Babes.” To all of you fellows lacking poised, reputable, eloquent escorts: I am, indeed, still eligible.

I regret that last month’s lobbying to the student council concerning the institution of Seatbelt Safety Week consumed so much of my social agenda. My weekend job at the Elmwood Historical Society has become quite demanding as well, what with the impending mating season of the cicadas after their 17-year larval stage underground.

Recent obligations pushed aside, then, I stand before you now with the promise of some enchanted evening with that beloved television personality, your own Susan Mary Kovolski. Let’s talk about what might be in store …

We’ll start the festivities around 4 p.m., when I’ll pick you up in my father’s spacious cobalt-blue conversion van, which is outfitted with plush seating—only the best. You might have difficulty recognizing me in my salmon tulle gown, but, then again, I might have difficulty recognizing you, as I plan on removing my glasses for the occasion—and as I probably do not know you. In any case, I will be the one ringing your doorbell with the baby’s-breath wreath in her hair. Gypsophila wreath, to be precise.

I’ll then take you to my home, where we’ll help my babka prepare her famous kluski slaskie. Potato noodles plus salty water equals boundless energy for dancing, polka or otherwise. You may bring an instant camera for documentation if you’d like, but please do not let Babka see it. You know nothing about the Nazi regime.

After dinner and a blessing, we’ll depart for the Marriott. While our peers wait idly for their limos to drop them off, I’ll be pulling into a spot reserved especially for Ms. Susan Mary Kovolski. My active participation in both the Elmwood Forest Beanie Babies Convention and the Elmwood Forest Pokémon Convention earned me an engraved placard. I’ll pause to let you digest that information …

OK, at ease.

I assume that our assimilation into general promenade rituals will follow, though I must warn you, I will not be wearing my orthopedic sneakers and will therefore require frequent dancing breaks. But never fear, these respites will afford us the opportunity to mock the alcohol-impaired faculties of our fellow classmates. We, on the other hand, will pull out our blood-alcohol-level cards and note, indubitably, that we are in the “green zone,” having both consumed zero drinks at our respective weights.

I will leave the rest to your imagination, as I believe I have disclosed sufficiently enticing plans and Mrs. Gatesville has begun to pound ferociously on Room B008’s door. If you would like to promenade with a local celebrity/expert on Pluto’s rise and fall as a planet, please leave your name and number on an index card and slip it into locker K8298. It’s the one featuring a large picture of Frodo with a fleur-de-lis border.

Until next time, I’m Susan Mary Kovolski, reminding you to observe the dress code and to turn off your cell phones before entering the building!