Yep, it’s been twenty years. Twenty years since I went to school every day dressed like this:
Okay, maybe not. Her disco look came a little later.
While it’s true that I worshipped Madonna in 1988 (I mean, who didn’t? ), I would have never dared to strut my puckly, pasty white thighs through my high school hallways. Talk about social suicide.
I more often wore consignment shop black frocks with lace leggings underneath, in an effort to mimic her popular “Lucky Star” look. I’ll be honest– no one ever mistook me for Madonna in high school. The only confusion I created was by wearing so much black eyeliner and ivory foundation that when I dressed up as a geisha one Halloween, no one noticed the difference.
Talk about social suicide.
Next month, I’ll be heading back to California for my twenty-year reunion. I booked my flight this morning after staring for the past few weeks at the “Reunion Reminder” card I got in the mail. For those of us out there hesitant to commit to the event, the reminder card lists “Why I Should Attend.” Here are some of my favorites:
1. Your regular friends are sick of hearing about your kids. (Good to know)
2. You don’t have to lie about your age. (That is a perk)
3. If you don’t go, others will talk behind your back. (Wow, I feel like I’m back in high school again! )
But, I was swayed by my favorite posse of gal-pals who are all making the trip. In fact, they’ve rented a hotel room for pre-party primping and a lightening round of Whatever Happened To So ‘n So.
My girlfriends and I have been discussing not, what we’re going to wear, but what we’re going to have done? The last time the five of us got together, one confessed that she’d indulged in “a little Botox.” The rest of us were outraged and then we wanted to know how much it cost. I found myself staring at her forehead all night thinking, it’s smooth as snow. She’s a perfect snowflake. I allowed myself the fantasy (I can be a snowflake, too) and then I made the mistake of telling The Husband.
He frowned.
The Husband thinks this level of vanity is ridiculous ( I think he also mentioned sad), but to me, the twenty year reunion feels like the perfect justification for shameless conceit. I put the twenty year reunion in the same category as showing up at the Academy Awards or being invited on Oprah– one must consider facial freezing or plumping.
Last night, The Husband caught me reading in bed with a smile on my face. He said, “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, this book’s so silly.” But, the book wasn’t particularly funny at all. Rather, I’ve taken to smiling whenever possible to help reverse the spread of lines taking a permanent position around my mouth. It’s cheaper than Botox and people think you’re really happy.
For now, that’s the only facial reconstruction I’m investing in. We’ll talk about how I’m going to fit into those pink hot pants later.
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