Friday, April 07, 2006
The Wallflower Ball, Revisited
What could possibly be worse than the Dance of Doom? Well, okay, nothing. But, coming in a close second is . . .

Getting on a plane, traveling 2,000 miles, changing into a dress and pantyhose for the second time in less than six months and attending your 20th high school reunion. That’s right. Today in my mailbox, wedged between my “excused from jury duty” notice (there is a god) and a reminder to vaccinate the dogs, I discovered my invite to The Bellevue High School, class of 1986, 20th reunion.

Before any fellow pantyhose commiserates send sympathy cards, I am happy to announce this RSVP will be returned with the “not attending” box checked and an annotation stating: sorry I couldn’t make it, but I have exceeded my pantyhose limit for the decade. While my classmates are giggling about baldheads, beer bellies and plumped-up prom queens, I’ll be home in my comfy jammies with my feet propped up and my nose in a good book.

Related to the above reminder of how rapidly I am aging is Kim’s post, PE Teachers Are Demons From Hell and Charlie’s stroll into school day traumas, Wimmin’ Troubles. It seems a few of us have been triggered into recalling the not-so-better days of our youth. As the men shared their adolescent women and locker room angst, I was reminded of my own middle school’s real life version of the book/movie Carrie.

Our Carrie was an incredibly scrawny, frizzy haired girl with the disposition to collapse into fits of sobbing hysteria in the middle of the classroom. She was mercilessly tormented by nearly everyone. I was always kind to her, never participating in the teasing, but still carry guilt for keeping quiet while her tormentors went to work.

My memory of her sparked, I googled her name and found a swimsuit model/actress with quite an impressive resume and a body to die for. I’m not 100% certain it’s her, but if it is, she’s a far cry from the girl who forgot to wear her gym shorts and ran from the locker room in baggy, floral bloomers to be greeted by jeers from the entire student body. She’s hot. All I can say is: you go girl; you deserve it.

So, while “Carrie” does her next swimsuit calendar I am left to ponder why I remain a wallflower. I cringe at the thought of any event following a formal invitation. I am blessed my Seattle friends understand my disposition, never exclude me from their gatherings and don’t criticize me for failing to attend. They take me as I am and are pleasantly surprised when I show up.

I am not entirely hopeless. I did accept an invitation recently. I will be joining several friends for a formal dinner and an evening in a famous St. Louis mansion/bed & breakfast. They’ve been trying to drag me from the house for four years, so my enthusiasm to attend the all-night excursion was met by utter shock.

The attraction to this event? The Lemp Mansion is deemed one of the top ten most haunted places in America. Following dinner, we’ll have the entire place to ourselves for the night, accompanied by paranormal researchers.

So all it takes to get me out of the house is an invitation from people who have been dead for a century whose sole purpose is to scare the ever-loving crap out of me. I should probably question why that sounds like a better experience than reuniting with schoolmates – or perhaps I should immediately book an appointment with a therapist.

One thing is certain, however. When I arrive at the Lemp, I will not be wearing pantyhose.
Rhonda Ruminated at 9:52 AM | Permalink |

7 Ruminations:

  • At 11:13 AM, Blogger Mia

    "NO THANK YOU" I just told my high school buddy three days ago when she called out of the blue, whom I haven't talked to in twenty years, regarding OUR 20th HS reunion. No-thank-you.

    "There is NOTHING wrong with actually liking to be home" I tell my silly friends who think I have a social disorder as well. Why is it unhealthy to LIKE being home?!?!?!?

    However, I would also totally make an exception to attend a party with ghosts.


  • At 11:36 AM, Blogger Nikki

    Let me know if you see Elvis. I think my mother has a pair of his shorts that we need to return. She says she got them from a friend of hers...yeah, sure mom.

  • At 11:51 AM, Blogger Charlie

    I am delighted to announce that never, NEVER in my life have I worn a tuxedo. Therefore, I have NEVER attended anything remotely formal. If I get an invite to my funeral, I ain't goin'.

    To mis-quote Mel Brooks, "It's good to be the wallflower."

    Ghosts, as I understand it, won't hurt you. They just want their shorts back.

  • At 1:15 PM, Blogger Kim Ayres

    I didn't make it to my 20th reunion, but someone posted a few photos of the event on the web somewhere and I was so relieved that I hadn't gone.

    Most of the girls looked almost exactly the same - same 80's hairdos and clothes which was quite disturbing - and one or two were the spitting image of their mothers, but I barely recognised any of the guys. They all were balding and had large beer bellies and looked so old. I avoided looking in the mirror for several days afterwards.

  • At 1:23 PM, Blogger Attila The Mom

    Now see, if you go you can recycle the dress that you have to buy to go to son's thing.

    You know me, I just hate to waste anything. LOL

  • At 5:45 PM, Blogger Rhonda

    Mia: Thank you for making me feel less odd-duckish :)

    Nikki: I promised I wouldn't chicken out and run home screaming before sunrise. But now, with a the vision of Elvis making a shortless appearance, I might have to rescind.

    APS: I knew you were a smart man.

    Kim: That sounds like my ten year. Looking at the girls, graduation might have been the day before. But the guys were already plump and balding.

    ATM: I'm a cheap bastard, too. Factoring in airfare, hotel and event tickets to attend the reunion, I can guiltlessly wear the ball gown just once. I know you must have a 20th coming up soon, too. How 'bout I ship it to you?

  • At 6:29 PM, Blogger Marie Jarrell

    Probably I have you all beat. The only time I wore a semi-foo foo dress was at my own wedding. Reunions? Ha. Never been to one, never will. Or anything like them, not even with family. Nowadays if I wore pantyhose and the stuff that goes over them and showed up at some haunted mansion, I'd scare the ghosts away.