The egg had to land somewhere…
Reunions bring out the worst in me. My facebook site is full of posts on an upcoming high school reunion. I haven’t decided whether or not to go. I just looked at the list of potential attendees and, even with the absentees, it will be a big group. It’s gonna take me days to go over this list. Who are these people? I can’t believe I actually went to school with them. Maybe they’re imposters.
Posts from former classmates are coming into facebook fast and furious. I’m laying low, keeping my mouth shut and my keyboard quiet. I’m not sure I should communicate the thoughts I have coming to mind. My comments might produce indignant or hurt feelings….or indifference.
Susan P. posts, “ I can’t come to the reunion.” This statement is followed by a lot of boo-hooing. I guess I should sympathize, but out of a graduating class of 700+, Susan P., I can’t even remember who you are. Then her post goes on to say, “ I’m gonna have surgery, serious surgery.” Oh geez, that’s not good. But, somewhere in the scuttlebutt of my brain, I can feel insensitivities brewing; do I really care? She then adds to her missive lament, “I hope the scalpel is sharp and the doctor’s eyesight is good.” Well Susan P., although I don’t know who you are, do get well, but watch out for the robot!
Darlene N. posts two days later….”Hope y’all have an amazing reunion! I can’t come because I’ll be out of the country. We’re going on a cruise to France!” Great! But who cares? I certainly don’t. Why? Because I can’t miss you if I can’t remember you. It’s not Alzheimer’s and I’m sure somebody else will miss you, at least two of them.
There’s a list of the action committee members, the people who are in charge of the reunion. Would you believe they are the same old (and getting older by the minute), clicky people? They were snobs all during high school, and probably still are. They were always close, very close… more than friendly. They probably gave each other Herpes or at least, UTI’s. Shoot, some of them are even married or divorced from each other. A future divorce reunion? That sounds more interesting.
I hate dressy attire. And what would I wear? Obviously Spanx (a new name for girdle?). But how many? One, for sure. Two, probably should. Three? That’s tough to bear and if the heat made them stick to me, I’d have to get Howard to cut them off. Scissors, scalpel anyone? And then there’s Howard in a coat and tie. No way. A suit in the summer heat is even more insufferable than pantyhose, heels, and hairspray.
I can’t wait for the photographs. Twenty-five years later, and it will be tedious to count the pot bellies and thinning hair. I probably wouldn’t know them if I passed them on the street. I have a directory from last year. There’s actually one friend I wanted to see and talk to. Problem is, she’s on the deceased list.
