Class of 90

Next weekend is my would-have-been 20 year high school reunion. That is, the school that I attended until I was 15 is having its reunion. The school I graduated from is either not having a reunion, or I am not invited. The latter being more likely, since I had a hard time convincing people that I graduated with that they had ever even seen me before, much less attended classes with me.

Me: We went to school together.

A guy I went to school with: uh.....

Me: No really, I think we were even in the same trig class.

The guy: um.... No, I don't think....

Me: I was the one with pink hair.

Guy: oh, yeah. sure...  (long pause)... You graduated?

So, through the magic of the internet, I happen to know that the class that I didn't graduate with is throwing a party next weekend. Um, at his house. And even though I probably don't really belong there, I believe I will attend. Because I have skipped too many rights of passage in my life, and darned if I'm gonna miss another one. Besides, it's a great reason to go visit my brother for the weekend.

Aren't you a little short for a storm trooper?

Meredith came out of her bedroom this morning red-faced and angry. Stomping her foot, she demanded, "I need to wear my bad guy costume!" Being a kind and patient mother, who never mocks her children, I bit my tongue to keep myself from saying, "You're three years old, you can't take off your bad guy costume."