Old School
I got one of those calls last night - you know, the kind you dread after a certain age, when neither the clock nor the calendar is your friend. It came about 8:30, after the deadline for phone solicitations, and that in itself is cause for concern because almost no one calls our land line any more except importuning do-good organizations (we’re on the no-call list for commercial solicitations, and it seems to work!). Mrs. Perils is usually kind enough to screen these calls for me, but when she walked in and handed me the phone, I knew some discomfort was in the offing.
And I was right. It was one of my old PHS classmates calling to inform me that our 40th class reunion will be held this year, sometime in early August. The guy said something about shuffleboard and a half-K marathon. I’m thinking it might be fun. The only other HS reunion I’ve attended was the 25th. This one will more likely be the survivors’ reunion, more “how much do you take (in terms of prescription drugs)?” than “how much do you make?” And if it’s a dud, I can still have a good visit with my mom.
Phil, I encourage you to go…it will help to get a georgraphic sense of Lipitor prescription levels (depending, of course, on where those in your cohort have ended up). I’ve never been to a reunion, though I did have plans to go to my 30th high school reunion…but I thought better of it. I never liked anyone with whom I attended high school, which was OK since they didn’t like me, either. I’m going to go to number 40, though…maybe I’ll rip off my shirt to expose the double bypass scar, causing all the erstwhile high school babes to “oohh” and “aahh” over the suppleness of the scarred flesh.