My high school class is holding an informal reunion with six other classes. This covers some 1,000 people and to date, only four have RSVPed to say they will come, including the lady who is organizing this bash. I suppose it would be bad form if the hostess didn't care to come to her own party.
I have been to two class reunions: the fifth and the twenty-fifth. The fifth reunion was a formal affair at a nice hotel in Houston. I bought a black strapless cocktail dress and a pair of black pumps with not-quite-stiletto heels. If car dealers will let customers test drive their merchandise, department stores should do the same with formal wear. I spent the entire evening hoisting up that damn dress because it kept wanting to settle down around my waist. To add insult to injury, a classmate's floozy of a wife had the gall to wear the exact same dress in a shade of baby blue. We were probably the only ones who even noticed, but as is customary in these situations, we glared at each other good and proper, and then spent the rest of the night trying to keep at least 30 paces apart.
Jump ahead 20 years and it's our silver anniversary. You'd think they'd make a big production out of this one, but no. This reunion was held in a honky-tonk that had been rented for the occasion and the dress code was casual. Still, most of the attendees made a stab at wearing something besides blue jeans and tee shirts.
Two friends picked me up at my parents' home in Houston: one was a long-time married lady, like me, with children; the other a divorced gal with no kids. I did pretty well recognizing female classmates, but many of the men stumped me. Truth is, guys change more than the ladies as they get older. They can do things the ladies can't do like go bald and grow facial hair. (Actually, ladies can do those things, too, once their estrogen levels start to drop.) A few male classmates had managed to stay pretty much the same over the past quarter-century, but it was embarrassing to have a guy walk up to me clearly knowing who I was when I had no clue who he was. And somehow it seemed insulting to take a quick glance at the name tag. I would try to time the name tag glance when Whatshisface wouldn't notice. (Look! isn't that So-and-So? <quick glance>)
Post reunion, a group of mostly single people decided to carry on the merriment and drinking at another dive. My married friend and I just wanted to go home, but unfortunately, we were at the mercy of our divorcee driver, so off we go to the post reunion party. The divorcee, anxious to find husband #3, disappeared in the crush of people, leaving the two of us to sit there and scream at each other over the noise. We were both fish out of water and knew it.
My husband never cared to attend any of his high school reunions, which shows more sense than I would have thought.
I would love to attend this one, but have sent my regrets. I still picture everyone as I remember them in high school and for now, I prefer to keep it that way.
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