I said my reunion was soon, didn’t I?
Grab a drink and a snack and get comfy.
The Biggest Lesson I Learned This Past Weekend:
Spanx = Assets + $16.00. Seriously gals, save the money and go to Target and get Assets. They are designed by the same person, work just as well, and are $16.00 cheaper. The only difference is that Assets don’t have the . . . what did the Spanx package call it? Gusseted crotch? Which means if you have to visit the little girls’ room for liquid relief, the Assets may be a little more inconvenient than the easy-open Spanx. Not that it makes a difference to me either way. And if your Ex-Lax kicks in, it won’t make a difference to you either way, either. No gusseted bum.
McH wore khakis or chinos or whatever you call those sand colored flat-front pants that guys wear with Polos when the dress code at work is business casual. He wore a button down white shirt and made the last minute decision to put on the tie. This was a committee decision made by the two of us in the
grass lot parking lot of the restaurant, because we saw a couple other guys hanging out in the weed patch parking lot with ties.
Thank goodness you all didn’t tell us he should wear a suit, because, boy howdy! would he have been overdressed. Lots of people were in jeans. Women, even. And the class president who is in charge of making sure these reunion things take place? Jeans. Really, as long as we weren’t naked, we wouldn’t have felt out of place.
I wore a black and white skirt, royal purple top, denim jacket, and some neutral heels. I figured the denim would make the whole thing cute and dress it down just enough, but not too much.
I met my two best girl friends from high school at the Cheesecake Factory for lunch before the reunion, since they weren’t interested in going to the reunion, and after we ate we shopped. They were awesome at helping me find a new outfit for that evening.
“Here, how about this?”
”What do you think you would wear with that if you bought it?”
”If you get a red top and put it with that skirt, you’ll be wearing school colors. Is that really what you want to do?”
”Yeah, I was thinking purple, too.”
”You’re calves are not too big to wear that skirt.”
”I know where you can get a purple tank top for $4.00”
”Go ahead and try it on.”
”The other size looked better.”
”Your rib cage is fine.”
”How long do the sleeves need to be if you don’t wear a jacket over it?”
They pretty much found my entire outfit for me. It was like having two personal shoppers, except they were doing it out of the goodness of their hearts rather than for a commission, and we laughed a whole lot along the way. And I just wanted to give one of them a great big sloppy kiss when she found the skirt I ultimately wore to the reunion, and it fit me, and it is a size 0.5. Never mind the fact that that particular store has some funky sizing system where all the clothes are sized 0-3.5, and a 0 isn’t really a 0 like it is at Old Navy or somewhere with normal sizing; plus, the skirt was on the clearance rack, so it was probably mismarked and was supposed to be a two. Never mind, never mind, never mind! There is now a skirt hanging in my closet with a tag that says 0.5 on it. It is a dream I thought only achievable in my fantasies, but this weekend it came true in a place called Chico’s. I am freaking Cinderella people, just indulge me!
As we shopped, we marveled at how 1980s so much of today’s clothing is, and we really wondered who, other than Freddy Mercury, would wear pleather hot pants with suspenders. We also looked at many cute outfits on rail thin mannequins and wondered who the heck actually buys them. Because? While they look very, very cute on the anorexic statuettes, they wouldn’t look good on 9.99 out of 10 living, breathing, human beings. Then, with a reverent sort of horror, we acquiesced to the idea that some people will buy anything that looks good on a mannequin, no matter how bad it looks on them. Tank top wedged into multiple back fat rolls with a side of muffin top, anyone? Yummm.
Anyway, we had a blast. I cannot tell you the last time I had quality girl shopping time like that. I think insurance should cover it as some type of therapy.
Our class president got up in his jeans and untucked polo to welcome everyone to the reunion. It went something like this (and I’m not making this up):
“It’s really good to see you all here. We, umm, didn’t know how many people would come because even though we set up a website back in April and have been contacting people, by the end of July only 30 people had RSVPd and paid. So far tonight we’ve had, like, seventy people pay at the door. But, you know, we’re glad you came no matter when you paid. Umm . . . we didn’t really plan anything because, you know, in a couple of years you aren’t going to remember any decorations or slide show presentations or anything, so, you know, just eat and mingle. That’s pretty much all we’ve planned for tonight. It’s just a night to talk to each other and get to know each other again. Oh, and I, uh, brought my old Senior sweatshirt you see hanging up here. There seems to be some bet going on as to whether or not I can fit into it tonight. But, anyway, glad you’re here and, you know, we didn’t plan any activities, so just mingle and enjoy yourselves.”
I am the worlds worst mingler! I hate to mingle! It practically gives me hives. I was hoping there would be some kind of program to at least temporarily relieve me of the need to mingle, but nooooooooo.
It was okay, though. It took me a while to muster up the courage to venture from my table, but I did. Which is amazing in and of itself, because everyone (except one) I wanted to see at the reunion (other than my two friends who wouldn’t go) was at my table. But they kept going off and mingling. Yep, they are all much better minglers than I am. So I finally did it. And you know what? It wasn’t too bad.
I had fun chatting with people I barely ever spoke to when I was in high school. Let me tell you about just one of these conversations.
Back story: My freshman year I was in French class with a guy, let’s call him QBGuy, and we were friendly. I’m pretty sure in retrospect that he was flirting with me, but at the time I didn’t believe it because, you know, angsty lack o’ confidence. Anyway, sophomore year QBGuy and I were in the same gym class. Again with the friendly and again with the flirty. At this point I was pretty sure he was being flirty, but I was dating someone else. I know I’ve talked about him on the blog before, the Cootervillian boyfriend. The one who sounds like Larry the Cable Guy but now (not back then, just now) looks like David Crosby from Crosby, Stills and Nash.
So, anyway, QBGuy was all flirty in gym class, which was kind of fun even though I wasn’t interested, until one day, in the midst of us talking, another guy came up behind him, put him in some kind of headlock and dragged him out of ear shot. QBGuy never spoke to me again. Ever.
You see, Larry the Crosby Guy (who had graduated the year previously) had
spies friends guarding watching out for me. I hadn’t realized that before, but started noticing it more and more.
At any rate, QBGuy never talked to me again after he got his talking to, until this past Saturday at the reunion. As we were chatting, he asked McH and I how many kids we have (oh my, the reactions we got all night long when we’d tell people how many kids we have! but this one was the best) so I told him we have five and, I kid you not, he totally checked me out.
You know that big up and down once over thing that guys do? Totally. Right in front of my husband. I half expected him to bust out into his best Joey from Friends, “What ‘ch you doin’?” But he was nursing what was obviously not his first beer, so I’m sure subtlety didn’t come easy at that point.
(Speaking of beer, how much does it take to get people out on the dance floor? Because I saw a ton of it there, but very, very little dancing. The poor DJ was getting frustrated and feeling useless, I think).
As much fun as the mingling was, the highlight of the evening was sitting at my table of friends. Good thing I warned McH ahead of time that all the people I was going to see were guys. When we first got to the reunion I scanned the room, almost immediately saw one of the guys (who was one of my very, very best friends and I totally lost touch with him until just a couple months ago) and practically ran over to him. Dignified much? But I didn’t run because, you know, my husband was right there with me, and the friend’s wife was right there with him, and eek! Not everybody gets guy/girl friendships, you know? But my friend just grabbed me up in this great big bear hug, and I knew that he was as excited to see me again as I was to see him, and that was the highlight of the evening. Well, next to all the times people told me I hadn’t changed at all since high school and I looked “fabulous!” Seriously, a woman in her late 30’s needs to hear stuff like that even though the scale and mirror tell her it isn’t true.
I kind of took it upon myself, as a special assignment, to scope out an ex crush or two of one of my friends who didn’t go (or maybe I was asked to do this, I really don’t remember for sure). I found one of them. He and I didn’t speak that evening, but . . . heeeee . . . he was literally a green suit and some musical talent away from being a leprechaun.
The “Let’s Give Them Something to Talk About” Part of the Weekend
The day after the reunion we went to church at our old congregation. I could tell you all about how great it was to be back there, but then I’d start crying (again) and I don’t know how to type sobbing. So instead I’ll tell you about how we took our nephew with us.
As we were getting ready for church, my sister’s oldest wandered over (they live next door to my parents) and told us they weren’t going to church that morning (due to the new baby and all), so I asked him if he wanted to go to church with us. I guess this is where it is important to explain that LDS congregations are determined by geographical boundaries, and when we lived in that general area we were in a different congregation than my mom and sister.
The nephew, who is only a couple of weeks younger than Midge, decided he wanted to go to church with us and, as we were getting everybody loaded into the Suburban, it hit me! I knew what we were in for, and it kind of made me giggle. I guess this is where it is important to explain (though it shouldn’t be) (but it is, because things, rightly or wrongly, probably would have been much different otherwise) that my nephew is bi-racial.
So we walked into church and were immediately besieged by exactly what I knew was coming:
“Oh my gosh!! It is so great to see you guys!!!! What are you doing in town? How long will you be here? (then in a whisper) You adopted another one?????”
McH even had someone tell him how great it was that we adopted an older child this time. Ha ha!
I don’t think my nephew heard any of these comments. People were very careful to ask their questions quietly when he was otherwise engaged, or just plain not with us at the time. Everybody there, back when we lived there, was always very tactful when asking about adoption and their curiosity was always sincere and caring, so, like I said, I knew it was coming and it didn’t bother me. I actually found it all rather amusing.
There just aren’t words to describe how much I miss being part of that congregation. *sniffle*
And that, my readers, is my reunion weekend in a nutshell. I wish all that being surrounded by friends for two days stuff could happen a little more often.
Now I’m back to my regularly scheduled programming with five kids, too many pets, living in the boonies, and all that. Took them (the kids) to the dentist yesterday, and was very pleased with how all that went, aside from a cavity and the imminent need of braces for one child. So what I’m really saying when I say I was pleased with how it went is that I very much liked the dentist and everybody else in his practice. Today I will meet with the middle school principal. Wednesday I think I will hibernate from the stress of having taken my children to a new dentist (this was big for me people, very big) and furthered the plan of sending two of said children to government schools (even bigger people).
And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt says hello.