Thursday, April 26 , 2018, 9:35 am | Overcast with Haze 56º


She Said, Z Said: High School Reunion

After all these years, what's most amazing — and disappointing — is that everyone is still the same.

Z: I was sorely disappointed by my high school reunion.

She: Isn’t that the point of reunions?

Z: That and desperate soul searching. I think I forgot to do that part.

She: I barely even knew you had a reunion until you reminded me where we were going as we drove to the beach. Where was all the angst? Where was all of the mandatory pre-reunion life improvement we were supposed to do, like run marathons and make millions? You barely gave me time to brush my hair.

Z: I’m not talking about angst.

She: Then what? Not enough beer?

Z: Not enough fat, bald guys. These people actually looked OK. I keep assuming I’m the only one who looks unbelievably good for his age, and then a bunch of people who aren’t fat and bald show up.

She: There was that one guy.

Z: He’s not even in our class. Someone had to marry outside of the class to find him.

She: Don’t forget, reunions are pretty self-selecting. The unhappy and the unemployed don’t usually come.

Z: Lack of employment never stopped me from going to one of these things.

She: Yes, but you have a completely unwarranted, bizarrely huge ego.

Z: True that. Plus, I’m awesome.

She: I would have been surprised by the small turnout, but there were even fewer people at my reunion. Remember how disappointed I was?

Z: You had prewritten your column about it.

She: I figured it was a safe bet that my reunion would be just like high school.

Z: With everyone wearing dolphin shorts and eating cookies for “nutrition” break?

She: And then everyone would drink too much and stick to their own little social pods.

Z: Hey, I mingled.

She: That’s because you were just a little sophomore. I found it very disappointing. I thought it would be the math nerds in one corner, the basketball team in another. The soc’s would flit from table to table with insincere hellos to one and all, and the theater geeks would flounce through the cafeteria.

Z: You know they don’t actually hold reunions in the cafeteria, right? Or have you been lying to me, and you went to school in the 1950s?

She: Still, I figured the football players and cheerleaders would be fat and puffy, or liposuctioned and botoxed beyond recognition, and that short little kid making jokes in the back of geometry class would have grown into a 6-foot-tall internet gazillionaire I should have been nicer to. But none of those guys even showed up.

Z: What is it about 25th reunions?

She: I’m guessing people have lives and other summer plans. Who knew?

Z: I think they’re all fat and bald and don’t want to make me feel better about myself. Selfish.

She: I think the thing that’s even more amazing is that everyone is still pretty much how they used to be.

Z: Even if they’re not trouncing around the cafeteria?

She: Yeah, we basically went and hung out with our friends for your reunion, the people we see every weekend. They’re all exactly the same, just 25 years older. I guess I should have expected that’s who we would be with, since you haven’t made any new friends since the seventh grade.

Z: Yes, I have. You.

She: I guess that counts.

Z: Yes, dear.

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