My 35th high school reunion is coming up in June.
This is strange, considering I would have been only five when I graduated. Plus thirteen, but we drop the one and carry the three off to some unknown province, so it doesn't really matter now, does it? And it really doesn't matter in the least because guess what?
I'm NOT GOING.
I know how I am, and I know how all those other people will be, too. I can hear it now...
"Oh my word, where did all those extra chins come from, and how on earth could she have let herself get in that awful shape?"
"She could pack a week's worth of clothes in the bags under her eyes."
"Did someone invite the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Woman to the reunion? Because she's over there masquerading as..."
"I used a GPS to get here, but it's obvious she used the roadmap that her face has become. Have you ever seen so many wrinkles?"
And my favorite...
"She used to have SUCH A PRETTY FACE..."
No thank you. Maybe when I lose 150 pounds I'll attend a reunion. That is, if anyone is still alive to party with me.
Until then? Pass the chips and dip. I've got blogs to write!