Last night, my friend forwarded the website for our upcoming 10 year reunion (with the note, “Look how many of them have three kids”) and while just the organizers have signed the guest book so far, there were a lot that I recognized. All the girls that I went through sixth grade, junior high and high school with do, indeed, have three kids. I tried to explain to Mr. Isbell why I did not want to attend and had to resort to quoting Virginia Woolf. From To the Lighthouse:
For it was extraordinary to think that they had been capable of going on living all these years when she had not thought of them more than once all that time. How eventful her own life had been, during those same years. Yet perhaps Carrie Manning had not thought about her either. The thought was strange and distasteful.
(Part of me still wants to go–just to see how bad it will be.)
The writer in me will probably make me go, because how can I include a horrifically alienating reunion scene if I don’t experience one?
I’m a sentimental slob myself. I’ve been to all of my reunions, including the most recent last fall — the 20th! Gasp! I find them amusing, and it’s interesting that the “regulars” who come to all these is the core group of kids that I went to school with from first grade on up. Small town identity, I guess…
Heh. Reminds me of Grosse Pointe Blank, with the “Who needs hard alcohol?” line.
But we can take a FLASK!
Every thing is fun with a flask!
It’s even a fun word to SAY!
FLASK!