Tomorrow's my high school reunion. Not just my year, but the whole high school--over 650 ex-pupils expected to attend. I, of course, am mainly attending to see whether the ones I longed to bonk are still bonkable, and to find out what happened to the two mates I really regret not keeping in touch with.
I'm beginning to understand the nostalgia of high school. I hated it when I was there. Got the shit kicked out of me five ways from Thursday. But looking through the yearbook I saw a picture of my mates and I, playing cards in the library at lunchtime (nobody could beat you up in the library, see). I got bloody misty-eyed about this! What a big girl's blouse I've become.
Still, the opening ceremonies are tomorrow and the pregame show's tonight. Drinkies. Dad and I are going in, and I plan to do some last-minute browsing of the yearbook to try and remember peoples' names. We'll all have nametags, but the telltale flick of the eyes that says "who the fuck are YOU?" is something I'd like to avoid.
Someone recognized me in the registration queue. I have no idea who he was. I mean, I recognized his face. He was real nice and friendly and we chatted for a while. But ... name? No clue. He should have been wearing his badge so I could have flicked my eyes and not had to merely think "who the fuck are YOU?"
--Nat
