I’ve been trying to write for a couple of days about my High School 20 year reunion but I’m so confused about my Korean Cleaner sending me angry face emoticons via SMS that I’m not sure what to write about first.
In a drunken stupor on Saturday night, I promised a number of mates I would report in on the event. The reunion was Saturday. Today is Tuesday. The truth is, I’ve only just sobered up I’m fairly sure I’ve been drunk for three days. Yup, yet again, I am mother of the year.
So, Class of 1994. Far out, that went quick.
Amongst the chit chat at work last week I discovered that most people our age have left their high school years behind. They questioned my sanity wanting to catch up with people whom I’d last seen when my hair was a natural colour and my figure, unbeknown to me, was at its physical peak. I also discovered today that I work in the same office as a fellow class mate who was also in my Class of 94 and I haven’t recognised her, for 3 months. ERK! Not a good start.
To attend a 20 year school reunion, especially that of a girls only school, you have to go with;
a) an open mind
b) be well and truly over any high school rubbish/politics or broken friendships.
c) attend with the understanding that after 20 years, everyone has been through some shit/success//wins/losses and failures. You’re not alone and those attending ain’t judging!
There’s also no point in attending if you’re still harbouring angst against the person who stole your boyfriend/best friend/Spumante or Passion Pop at a party. Stay away and start therapy because 20 years of anger can’t be healthy. Needless to say, every single one of the fabulous women at our reunion came with open minds an intention to let their hair down and the ability to recall some fabulous stories!
Back in 94 we had high hopes and lived our school motto dream that “Women, in time will come to do much”. At the time, it meant a lot to me, it still does. The Loreto staff raised feminists who didn’t realise they were feminists. They taught us to believe we could do whatever we set our minds to, motherhood, career, teachers, doctors, lawyers, actors, news readers, police officers, whatever we wanted.
Little did I realise I would be living that dream 20 years later and being a woman, in time who would come to do much. Actually, I was doing so bloody much I arrived at the reunion 1.5hrs late because I forgot to read the invite properly. I was delighted not to be one of the organisers giving our name tags, they were clearly struggling to put faces to names on the RSVP list. The only problem with name tags is that you have to look at someone’s chest before looking them in the eye AND THEY KNOW YOU ARE LOOKING FOR THEIR NAME ON THIER CHEST. Naturally I didn’t want to offend the gals I didn’t recognise so after one wine too many, I either called everyone ‘darl, love or babe’ or just took a guess and called at least three people by the wrong name. I took a guess and called them Michelle, Georgie, Nicole or Kathryn – there were heaps of them in our grade, one of those names had to be right.
I quickly realised after a number of gals mentioned that I was a ‘breeder’ that I was in the minority when it came to those of us who went forth and multiplied. I made it my mission to find someone else with more kids than they had cars. It was tough, most had stopped at two or three kids and I contemplated just telling the remaining friends that I only had two as the way their jaws were dropping to the floor did make me question my own sanity. I was really struggling to answer the “I don’t know how you do it?” question because the truth is, just that morning 4 out of 5 kids went to basketball in wrong uniforms and odd socks.
As suspected, the funny gals were still absolutely hilarious. The smart gals went onto become smarter. The skinny, pretty gals were still skinny and pretty. The girls who covered their heads in hats at the beach, wore sunscreen religiously and stayed out of the sun had stunning skin and had no visible signs of botox – they really were the smart ones. I wondered why I wasn’t better friends with all of them at school. They were genuinely all so interesting and nice. It was a humbling reminder to those of us with little girls that the teenager you are at school is a far more mature woman in adulthood and we all grow out of the bullshit.
One of my girlfriends felt like she went backwards 20 years as she eagerly approached a few friends. In her words “I desperately wanted them to like me, how sad is that, I really felt like I was back in high school, in a good way!”
I also promised my friend Renee M that I would publicly recognise that I gave her shit non-stop for 6 years about where she lived, telling her she needed a passport to travel to my house only a mere 20kms down the road. I was a shocker! I now live 5 minutes from her childhood home and I LOVE IT. I do humbly apologise Renee and continue to dream that one day I’ll buy my dream home in your home suburb. CLICK HERE FOR DREAM HOME.
Anyway, as I got into a cab at 1:30am with an empty wallet, the window down and a secret wish that I wouldn’t vomit in the taxi, I realised, nothing much had changed in 20 years!
Great catch up gals, see you in another 10 years. Meantime, Cruci Dum Spiro Fido.