Awhile back I wrote a post on how there was no way on God’s green earth I was going to attend my upcoming high school reunion, regardless of the fact that I hadn’t seen my best friend from high school in the past 12 or so years. No. Wasn’t gonna do it. Can’t make me.
I had great reasons….why go to my first reunion after a thousand years when you know people won’t recognize you and I whined about how I wasn’t one of the “cool” kids so I wouldn’t have that many people to reconnect with, ad nauseum.
Those of my 17 faithful readers who piped in mostly agreed with me that if I didn’t want to put myself through this, I shouldn’t go, and after all these years why bother anyway?
And then a funny thing happened. My best friend from school (with whom I chat on FaceBook) said she would miss me. And then…another high school person (who, frankly, I’m sorry I got no clue who she was in school but I friended her anyway and she’s just a lovely person!) started nibbling away at my lil toes who didn’t want to cross the threshold of High School Memoryville. And, of course, there were the incessant emails from “the committee.”
One night having taken a double dose of Percocet and Valium as I was in a bit of pain from overdoing whatever the heck I had been doing that day with my back, I made the mistake of getting on FaceBook…and…yes…I caved. I agreed to go to the reunion. It was one of those moments in life that occur in slow motion — I typed something to the effect of “oh, alright I’ll go.” and hit the Enter key. Of course once I hit the Enter key the words are in cyberspace and I knew I was toast. I was attending my first high school reunion in the 21st Century and I had actually graduated in the 20th Century…Ack.
The trip there was uneventful, just long. The hotel was ritzy and expensive – one of those $400 a night DC-type hotels but the “committee” had a deal for $89 a night so I figured I was home free. The clerk at the counter needed my credit card number for “incidentals” which instantly put me on my guard. Were they gonna charge me separately for the towels…the bed…using the facilities? Ack.
I’m not going to regale you with a ton of stories about this reunion coz, frankly, you don’t really care to hear them. I will say that I was pleasantly surprised by the numbers of people who DID remember me and I enjoyed seeing some old friends. But I’ll be danged if I knew who all those grey-haired men were. They were obviously at the wrong function. I also now have some new FaceBook friends and that’s nice. The people I wanted to see, I saw. Mission accomplished.
The next reunion is in 5 years. They’re gonna have to do without me at that one. I don’t think I’ll have saved up enough small talk by then to add anything further to the prior conversations.
While the food at the hotel was fabulous (think “incidentals”), the service was excellent, and the bed absolutely heavenly there was only one little area that threw me. We had a very luxurious bathroom – beautiful tub and shower and marbled vanities. And then…there was what I came to call the Toilet of Death. When you flushed that puppy it sounded like 3 million Dyson vacuums had all sucked up everything in sight at the same time. There were a few times I worried that I, too, would be sucked into the vast sewer system of Northern Virginia, never to be seen again — that’s how powerful this toilet was. I actually found myself one evening holding on for dear life to one edge of the tub as I hit the handle of the Toilet of Death. “Don’t take me, Toilet of Death, please spare my wretched life.” I actually took a video of the TOD, but you know my technology issues; when I downloaded the memory card, there was no video, just pics from the two evening events. Crap on a crutch. I probably forgot to hit the actual button to start the video – you know me…. Sheesh. Trust me – go to the Westin Hotel in Tysons Corner, Virginia and ask to flush one of their toilets — you’ll see I am not making this up. Toilet of Death…
So, I’ve come clean — I’ve admitted that maybe my rant on high school reunions was a bit overdone – I went – I was gracious (read: I looked hawt after losing 45 lbs) and I had a good time. Now it’s time to stop laughing at the pictures in the year book and move on….sigh…