or... How I got over that
It didn't last long -- a fleeting thought as I rested a beer bottle on my belly and stared through my toes at the Sox/Yankees game. I should tighten that up, I thought. That on its own is not unusual; I think about tightening it up far more often than I do it. What surprised me was the added clause, "before the Reunion."
We Old Gals capitalize Reunion. We also use words like parietals, cotillion, and aspic. We are not really that old, but our college is, and Reunion is a capitalized holiday held every year. One is always welcome, but is only invited once every five years. This year I have been invited for the fourth time.
In that second that it took Schilling to blow into his fist I remembered some information that brought me to my senses. It wasn't that I had lived much of my four years there barefoot in a single pair of jeans, or squinting behind Ray-Bans through a hungover haze. Or that no amount of pearl strands (and I have 2) had ever made me a Belle in anyone's eyes. That all came later.
What killed the idea as quickly as it was born was the recollection that I actually weigh 30 pounds more than I did when I was 23. "Well that's just ridiculous," I said aloud.