I haven’t heard anything yet, but 2027 will mark 60 years since I graduated from high school, so I’m wondering if there are any plans in the works yet for a class reunion.
I’ve attended a few of my reunions in the past and had fun seeing my old classmates again and catching up on all of the gossip, but prior to each reunion, the same thing usually occurred. Take, for example, a few months before my 35th reunion…
I answered the phone one July day in 2002, and a female voice on the other end said, “Hi, Sally! Are you fat?”
It was my old school chum since kindergarten, Carole.
“Well, seeing that you asked,” I said, puzzled, “I guess I am a bit hefty.”
“So am I!” she said, laughing. “How much weight do you think we can lose in four months?”
“In my case, probably about two pounds. Why?”
“I just found out today that we’re having a 35th class reunion in November!”
I groaned. In preparation for our previous high-school reunion back in 1997, both Carole and I had just about starved ourselves for weeks. Our torture paid off, however. On the night of the reunion, we arrived looking svelte and confident…and hungry enough to eat the tablecloths on the tables.
“Oh, great,” I said, regarding the 35th reunion. “I’ve gained back all of the weight I lost for the last reunion, and then some. I just can’t seem to stay away from anything that has sugar in it.”
“I’ve gained a ton, too,” Carole said, sighing. “I’m hungry all the time. I can polish off a whole box of crackers and a wheel of cheese in one sitting.”
“You think that’s bad? The other night I ate an entire box of brown sugar with a spoon!”
Back in our school days, Carole and I shared a mutual love of penny candy and pizza. If we’d been given the choice of a date with the hunky captain of the football team or staying home with a big bag of spearmint leaves, fireballs, chocolate-covered caramels and red licorice, the candy would have won hands down. To heck with the football player. Our idea of a dream date would have been Papa Gino’s son.
Immediately following my phone conversation with Carole back in 2002, I searched through my closet and took out the black-velvet, fitted outfit I’d worn to the last class reunion. In a moment of sheer delusion, I decided to try it on. When my arm got stuck halfway through the armhole and began to feel as if it had a blood-pressure cuff wrapped around it, I gave up and flung the outfit onto the bed.
“A person would have to be built like a snake to get into that thing,” I muttered, frowning at the black-velvet heap. “There is NO way I could have worn that to the last reunion! It must have shrunk over the years from excess moisture in my closet or something. Maybe I should buy a dehumidifier!”
Still, even though I knew it would require weeks of serious dieting and exercising, which made me groan just thinking about it, I really wanted to attend that reunion in November because I’d had such a good time at the previous ones. My husband, however, didn’t share my enthusiasm. In fact, he’d been so bored all night at my 30th reunion, several times during the evening I’d had to put my purse mirror underneath his nose to see if he still was breathing.
But Carole told me that whether she succeeded in losing weight or not, she still planned to attend the reunion and have a great time.
I wish I could have shared her confidence. I hate to say it, but I dieted for only about a week before caving in to my intense craving for Lindt chocolates and fudge-walnut brownies. After that, I never was able to motivate myself to get back on track.
So, to my regret (and my husband's relief), I ended up being a no-show at the 35th reunion.
But now, if there is a reunion in 2027, for the first time in my life I won’t have to bother to lose weight for the event. That’s because I’ve been on a strict “doctor’s orders” diet since last September, thanks to a narrowing of my intestine caused by scar tissue. This allows only very small portions of food to squeeze through at a time, and even then, the food has to be the consistency of baby food.
In other words, eating has become a totally yucky experience.
So now my problem is wrinkles. Without any fat to fill them out anymore, my skin pretty much resembles an unmade bed. And then there’s also the force of gravity to contend with. No matter how much I exercise, parts of my body still are determined to head south, as if they are eager to settle in Florida…or maybe even Cuba.
But I think I’ve come up with the perfect, easy solution for looking great at any and all future reunions…I’m going to hire a sexy Victoria’s Secret model to attend them and wear my nametag all night.
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