Sweating to the Oldies

It seems I mentioned in an earlier post that my class reunion was coming up. I can't remember. It was my, gasp, 20th.

The people that were planning it sent out very last minute invitations, like a month before the event. Or maybe only the people like me received last minute invitations. (Her, I don't remember her. Oh yeah, it was the freaky goth tall chick.)

The reunion was held on the 28th of December. I chewed on going but that was only to see my friend Diane, who sounded positive she was going. Only it was one-hundred twenty dollars, three days after Christmas, a four hour drive away, and we didn't have a car at the time that fit the whole family.

I told her via e-mail that I wasn't able to go. She hadn't signed up either. I would have killed her if I'd signed for it and she wasn't going.

The people hosting the reunion set up a myspace site. I went online this weekend to see if I recognized any of the people who had gone to the reunion. Nope, I didn't. Not only that, but they all looked really old and fat. How did that happen to them when I still look the same?

One thing I had wondered about was, if I had gone to the reunion would it propel me mentally back to high school? That question was answered when I was looking at the pictures. The lady (I use that term loosely) who was voted most eligible bachelorette was one of the people who had been a snotty mean girl in high school. I found myself asking my husband, "Do you think she still screws for coke?" Twenty years later and some things never change.