Recently I attended my twentieth class reunion. I did not really feel comfortable going and even passed on the dinner portion. High school was not really a highlight in my life. Sure, at the time, I was over dramatic and sure that my stupidity in my teens would follow into my old age of thirty-one. At nearly forty, I understand that my past is long forgotten. The problem is separating that reality from my mind when I am face to face to these people. Not sure if it is just me, but I don’t get why I would want to hang out with people that did not want to hang out with me twenty years ago or even next month. I only need to say hello and get a snapshot of them. Heck, I have forgotten most of their names anyhow.
So with a mixture of my poor memory, my poor high school image, and my sister as the bartender, I proceeded to drink heavily and try my best to keep up the act that I knew people who knew me. Do they still believe I gave head to a half of the varsity football team? Do they remember me because I have aged well? Or do they have someone in their ear whispering names? Perhaps I am over thinking the whole issue (no new surprise there), and they just have better memories than me?
If you have an unlimited about of alcohol, all you need is one friend that can name people and a big smile. I chose my eighth grade boyfriend Mr. Bean, who dumped me for a girl with boobs. Clearly he owed me. With his help with names, I found that if I asked enough questions I could manage without revealing my lack of knowledge. Even though the after crowd was small, the bar prevented long conversations. Thank gawd!
Anyhow, the head cheerleader did not make the party because she moved to Kentucky to a trailer in the hills. The quarterback never grew over five foot six and lost all his hair at the five year reunion. Boobs was there, all the way from Seattle. Her hair was exactly the same as it was in 1992, four inches high and platinum. Her teal dress had to be her prom dress; maybe she was recapturing Peggy Sue Got Married. My boobs were the same size, and I wondered if it made any difference now. It was a big deal then. Hell, evidently I have hung onto this for twenty years.
One happy moment was the boy I crushed on in middle school was there with his high school sweetheart, now wife. He was always such a nice guy then; kind of chubby but always honest, a linebacker even. Now he looked like a slim supermodel with sparkling blue eyes. He and his wife are just as nice as ever, which make it very hard to hate her. They had walked out of a Lands End catalog and were returning to their perfect family just on the north side of town.
There were several people that missed entirely or did no
t go to the after party, but a few hours were enough for me. I am sure I learned something in high school, but all it does is make me feel like that left-out loser teenager. Drunk is the only way I survived the night. Not sure it was worth the evening except it was fun and the room spun me to sleep.
Mishaps Today 