No, this isn't a new dress. No, I didn't go to the fabulous Pincurls and get my hair glamorized for the event. Shoes? Am I even wearing shoes? I don't remember. People, shallow doesn't even begin to describe my approach to reunions.
So the traumatic event of the night for me occurred when I realized that I was completely unable to make a decision about the crucial choice between the fun-yet-casual sandals and the awesomely fabulous but pointy-to-the-point-of-witchiness pumps. I was paralyzed by the possible ramifications of a poor shoe choice. So I headed next door to get the fabulous neighbor to rescue me. She's awesome with the shoe psychology; she totally gets the importance of the decision, but can intervene from a more neutral point of view. She's like Dr. Drew, only for shoes.
Well, thank goodness for the fabulous neighbor -- but ask me sometime about how her husband slapped me with a piece of pizza, when I banged on his door and said, "I need the fabulous neighbor -- STAT!" Apparently my urgent tone made him think someone at my house had a bone sticking out or something. He just doesn't get the whole shoe thing, I guess.
So once I got to the event, I smiled graciously and strode confidently through the room and parked myself in the far corner. The husband brought me a glass of wine and said, "You know that you can't stand here all night, right?" He just didn't get that I couldn't mingle until Lisa was there to mingle with me. I was also slightly hyperventilating because across the room I saw the boy with a heart full of sweet whom I ditched meanly to go to the prom with a another boy, who ended up coming out to me -- at the prom. Neither of these boys is my husband, of course (with whom I also went to high school) -- and we're all approaching fifty and happily married. But still. The mind was reeling, and I had not had enough wine.
See what I mean about neurotic? People, you don't even know.
And by the way -- is it just me? I remember people, and I just assume they have no idea who I am. So I imagine saying a cheery hello to a high school pal, and having her look back at me with a blank stare. And I was one of those involved girls in high school -- so I don't know where this notion comes from. I sang; I acted in the school plays; I wrote for the yearbook; I acted like an idiot at pep rallies. A story for another day is how I broke my ankle at a pep rally, and then fell down a flight of stairs the next day and broke the other ankle; the point here would be that people knew who I was -- even if it was because I was widely regarded as a giant dork.
Anyway -- the reunion was fabulous, and so were all the charmingly fun people that I was so afraid of. Look how great we all turned out!
I hugged more people than I have since I don't know when. Seriously, hugging was the default greeting: at the door I was hugged by Dale, who sat next to me in French in 8th grade and dragged me toward a passing grade; and the hugs just kept on coming. Sometimes a spouse was mistakenly hugged but bore up under the strain.
This man was so cute in high school and I always had the teensiest little crush on him. His wife is lovely, just so we're clear.
And this woman was just so dear to me in high school. And she still is. I'm so glad I got to spend time with her; it made all the anxiety worth it.
But can I just say that some things never change? My friend Tim was there and people, he snuck in booze! How hilarious is that? Of course this time he wasn't hiding the beer or the cheap vodka because we weren't old enough to drink. No -- he brought his own "good" wine because he was afraid the house wine would give him a migraine. I howled with laughter -- but I was first in line when he offered to share the good stuff.
It was just like high school.