A friend called me to say that a mutual acquaintance contacted her to see if I received my invitation to my 60th high school reunion. I had not.
- First reaction: How lovely that someone would take the trouble to do that.
- Second reaction: I’m on Facebook, Google. I’m visible; why didn’t they email or message me?
- Third reaction: Someone did not give a rip about my receiving an invitation. Someone wanted to confirm that I would not be attending.
There is no shortage of movies and television episodes about high school reunions.
The plot usually revolves around a popular cheerleader/jock and the unattractive wallflower or sports challenged nerd.
The “in crowd” whose alliances have remained intact since high school does not mingle with the outsiders. They observe, committing to memory juicy tidbits to share at their next get together.
For a tad too much sweetness, there is the couple who were sweethearts since first grade. They married, have a gaggle of adorable annoying offspring and a ten-pound photo album sitting on their table as a testament to their undying devotion.
There is usually a salesperson of some sort, handing out business cards. (In my group, most likely, cemetery plots.)
Then there are the distinguished alumni people, whose unapproachable persona begs the question, why did they bother to attend.
Everyone wants to check out the class tramp, the one who allegedly “put out”, but in reality most likely never did. Time has rendered her a rosy-cheeked single woman and the only thing she ever put out was the cat.
Watching the entrance of the so-called high school wallflower who morphed into a beauty is delicious reunion revenge.
As for my high school reunion, it appears the date, time and venue of this event is a fierce secret. Nothing about my activities, interests, views on politics, and religion qualifies me as a desired attendee.
I’m betting reaction number three is spot on.