The night at the Pricemart Ball was every bit the suburban purgatory Eric feared. The ballroom was draped in depressing beige streamers, and the band was playing a polka version of "Stayin' Alive."
In the basement of the Forman house, the air was thick with the usual mix of Nag Champa and teenage apathy. Eric sat on the edge of the couch, his fingers nervously tracing the lapel of a velvet suit that looked like it had been salvaged from a lounge singer's estate sale. [S4E7] Uncomfortable Ball Stuff
"It’s not just the dance," Eric said, his voice rising an octave. "It’s the uncomfortable ball stuff . The stiff collars. The small talk about logistics. The way Red gets that vein in his forehead when I hold a salad fork wrong." The night at the Pricemart Ball was every