So when my ten year high school reunion rolled around, I was pretty pumped. I have a bunch of fancy papers hanging on my wall, I feel like I look good, I'm thrilled with my life, and I have a charming husband. This is a far cry from the oh-so-painfully nerdy chickadee I was in high school. I was going.
Of course, I was also looking forward to seeing everyone.
The picnic they planned for lunchtime was rained out. DH and I drove to the park in the downpour just to make sure that there weren't drenched children playing on the swing set with dry parents tucked under the pavilion. There were not.
Reunion part two was a dinner at my least favorite restaurant in the whole town. However, as I wasn't planning the reunion, I felt I had very little room to complain. Around sixty people graduated from my class. Not a huge class, but most of them live within a twenty minute drive of our hometown. The majority of them live within a three hour drive of our hometown. I live twelve hours away. One would think that those who could walk to the restaurant without breaking a sweat might show up.
Counting myself, six people from our class showed up (plus spouses). Two of them are married to each other, so I think they should count as one person.
Six.
Now don't get me wrong - I was very happy to see those people again (plus spouses). However, one of them hadn't even known there was a reunion happening until I called him two days before. Which means the one organizing the reunion had a turn out of five counting herself and her husband (a fellow classmate). So that brings her total down to three. I think I saw that many classmates when I was wandering through the Wal-Mart the day before. It is a tiny, itsy bitsy possibility that this was poorly planned.
None of that fazed me overly much, because of the most important part: I cleaned up pretty well.
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