South of the Border Torture Order

I keep getting e-mails from Classmates.com to inform me that someone new has signed my guestbook. I don’t subscribe so I have no idea who has tried to contact me nor do I really care since I didn’t have all that many friends in high school. I was the class dork. The girl who never had the right clothes, I never had a Laura Ashley dress or parachute pants. I didn’t stand at the lockers chatting between classes instead I would walk and read from one class to another. So, it goes without saying that I have no idea why anyone would want to contact me twenty years later. Perhaps it is all the buzz about our upcoming twentieth reunion.

Next year we will be gathering again to see what/who/how everyone turned out. I went to my ten year. Morbid curiosity I guess. As we pulled up to the hotel where the reunion was taking place Carrie asked me who my friends were in high school, who was I excited to see again? I could not come up with one single name. She pried some more then finally let out a big sigh and asked “Am I going to the reunion with the class dork?” I had to tell her the truth. We went in anyway where, to add insult to injury, more of my classmates knew her from her mother’s modeling classes or church. Half of them probably forgot I went to school with them and thought Carrie did instead.

I received notification of the twenty year reunion a month or so ago. I mulled it over, obsessively, because I couldn’t decide if I wanted to put myself through another night of humiliation. Today when I received my most recent “guestbook” tease I went back on Classmates to see if there was a reunion update. Our class (or at least the one person brave enough to take the reins of organization) has decided to have the reunion at a Mexican food restaurant downtown. It could not be worse for me. First, I hate smelling like a fried chip when we eat at Mexican food restaurants. Second, I am forced to eat Mexican food approximately three times a week by my cheese/guac/beef addicted girlfriend. It is as if the Fates decided that since everyone really liked Carrie more at these reunions they would arrange for her to have a grand ole time and leave me to sulk in a corner like a wet tortilla chip.