High School reunions are a funny thing. I dreaded mine with such force that I nearly vomited in the bathroom as I was putting my make up on.
But hey, it wasn’t that bad. A small turn out, maybe a quarter of our graduating grade, rocked up, quite a few with their offspring, had a few drinks, then left.
Polite conversation ensued, the standard “So what are you doing with yourself” question, which after an hour I was incredibly bored of answering. And I know that I was rude when I couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm to ask them in return. What I do care about is “Are you well, are you happy” which nobody will really reply to honestly anyway.
But it was, despite my misgivings, an interesting night. And I’m glad I rustled up the courage to get in my car and go.
There was afterwards a disappointing turn out for the pub, but five of us hit the town with an enthusiasm that would have rivalled a fat man attacked a hot dog. We made up for the fact that we had zero children our spouses by singing power ballads and ending up at a house party full of dressed up hippies, some whom were partaking in tantric sex on the balcony and dancing flamboyantly in the living room.
Looking back, my high school starry eyed self imagined that life would be a lot different in ten years then it actually is. All hopes of becoming an Academy Award winning actress and marrying my high school sweetheart (for the record I had ZERO boyfriends in high school) are now well and truly shot.
But I got something better than those dreams. I’ve lived and seen more in the past ten years than some people do and see their entire lives.
And for that, dear readers, I am truly grateful.
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