By the time this column is printed I will have already gone to my twentieth reunion, I will have survived the paralysis that will set in mere moments before we pull up to the old high school.
For the umpteenth time I will discreetly hitch up my skirt hoping that my pantyhose don’t twang off like an over-stretched rubber band and that my skirt doesn’t drop like oh so many home videos we’ve watched on television.
I really hope I’ll see ‘you-know-who’ and I hope he has a potbelly and a receding hairline. You know who. He’s the guy who was your first love but he didn’t even know it.
I wonder. Will cheerleaders still look like cheerleaders? Will jocks still look like jocks? Will nerds all be as stunningly witty and clever as I? Ahem.
Suddenly my teeth will have tripled in size and I won’t be able to say anything without lisping, mumbling, stuttering or spraying people with spittle. I’ll be so nervous I’ll bust out in laughter like SpongeBob. So the plan will be to smile mysteriously and nod my head ever so slightly in response to anyone who speaks to me.
I figure that after five minutes of this they will give me that polite smile that says ‘Omigosh! She’s, like, such a freak!’ and they will slip away to the safety of more eloquent almuni.
I’ll be amazed if I can even keep my balance as memories of my teen years rush back like a rogue wave. Like the time my parents forgot my sixteenth birthday because my sister was getting married and she got all the attention. Or the time I got detention and was stuck in a room all day with a jock, a Goth girl, a nerd and a criminal. No, wait. Are those my memories or Molly Ringwald’s?
My friend and I are planning on seeing a movie earlier in the day. It sounded like a good idea at first. Now I realize that I will be forcing myself to sit still for three hours on THE day of the reunion. What mind was I in when I dreamed up that little idea?
I’ll be like a jitterbug in a test tube or, as my Australian husband likes to say, I’ll be going off like a frog in a sock.
It’ll be just like the final lecture before a big exam while sitting beside the guy I really like. Yeah, I’ll be focused. Riiight.
Worse, I’ll probably be popping Whoppers by the handful and downing them with a colossal-sized Coke. I’ll be so jacked up on sugar and adrenaline I’ll sound like Mickey Mouse as an auctioneer. “Hi! MynameisLisaandIwasinyourchemistryclassandwasn’titfunnywhen…?”
Uh-oh. There’s that look again. “Omigosh!”