20 years on…

“20 years on, when afar and asunder

Parted are those who are singing today,

When you look back, and forgetfully wonder

What you were like in your work and your play,

Then, it may be, there will often come o’er you,

Glimpses of notes like the catch of a song –

Visions of school days shall float them before you,

Echoes of dreamland shall bear them along”


It’s my twenty year reunion tomorrow.

It crept on me like a thief in the night.

I didn’t react well.

First of all I didn’t tell my husband until yesterday.

He didn’t take it very well, but has reacted exactly like I thought he would and is having a whale of a time teasing me.

From the reactions of my classmates on Facebook, I am not alone.

From a few tentative posts on what was happening, no-one jumped up to take responsibility of organising anything.

Where the hell is a head girl when you need one – in another country – that’s where.

Eventually out of sheer desperation one fabulous woman has arranged drinks tonight.

All I have to do is pitch.


I have nothing to wear.

I forgot to go on a crash diet.

I haven’t been to the gym in God knows how long.

After all, you don’t want to go to a reunion looking like what you are – a middle-aged mother of three fighting a losing battle against gravity.

Think Romi and Michelle’s High School Reunion or probably more apt, Grosse Pointe Blank – only without John Cusack (I went to a girls only school).

I wonder if I can learn to be something interesting like an assassin in 24 hours?


So, I went shopping yesterday. I bought form shaping Spanx, hit the sales and am now the proud owner of an exquisite pair of blue shoes from San Marino.

Thus armed, I swaggered into work this morning filled with false confidence, all of which got shot to hell as my colleagues began asking, “So, how many of them have had Botox? Or a boob job?”


Boob jobs?

I don’t have time for liposuction and a face lift.

The reunion is tomorrow.

I can’t get an appointment for professional tooth whitening and a Hollywood smile.

But, maybe I can wrangle a manicure from the lady down the hall…

So armed with nothing but a fountain pen, some gorgeous blue shoes, Spanx and some Dorothy Parkeresque acerbic wit I shall walk into the breach and hope for the best.

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I write because I have to. It is a compulsion. I do it to vent, to laugh and to remember. I blog because it has been so long since I had to write with a pen that my hand would go into cramp if I tried to write a journal.

3 thoughts on “20 years on…”

  1. I’ve already read your subsequent post, so I know you had a good time. I’m so glad.
    I went to my 20th a couple years ago. Like you, I suffered a great deal of trepidation in the days before (although I did tell my wife, as it involved a 1,000 mile trip with three children under two years old). I had a rotten time in high school (thank God for college!), and none of my few friends were going to be showing up. I’m slimmer than I was in high school, and I have a life I’m proud of, but still I thought, “Why the hell am I even doing this?”

    1. My husband said to me, “Don’t panic, you’ve got a good career, you’ve got plently to brag about.” I looked at him askance, “It’s not about what you’ve done!” I ejected, “It’s about how you look!”

  2. And then there are those of us, stuck on Mud Island, wishing we could be joining you all – if only for the excuse to behave badly & sing even worse!!! Oh, my business cards alone bring shock to the faces of most of the parents!

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