OyChicago blog

I have a friend who claims that hell is being a teenage girl. I beg to differ: hell is being a pre-teen girl. Seeing photos of my chubby, pubescent self still makes me flinch, and bra-shopping still gives me flashbacks. What could be worse than the junior high years, when you didn’t fit in and nothing fit?

The answer is: having a REUNION of your junior high school class.

This is the dark side of Facebook. Ex-lovers crawl out from under the woodwork, you get banal hourly updates from your friend’s cousin’s wife, and former classmates whose names you have happily forgotten reappear on your computer screen, eager to reminisce. And now, to plan a reunion. Seriously.

At first I thought they were kidding.  Then I began to receive multiple invitations and daily updates to entice folks to attend.

In my mind, I take inventory of the possible replies:

#1:  Dial 1-800-GET-A-LIFE

These people are actually debating which is their favorite bar in the godforsaken suburb where we grew up. Did none of them ever venture beyond the local mall? Apparently high school really WAS the best time in their lives.  

#2:  I would rather put needles through my eyes.

You all were mean as hell. I wish you no harm, but also don’t wish to think about you. Ever.

#3: Can’t wait!

You see, there is potential satisfaction to be had.  The former classmates appear to be balder, fatter and less well-adjusted than me. Some married badly, or never married at all, and I have a sweet husband. Many seem to have wandered from job to job, whereas I have a career I’m reasonably proud of.  Most appear worse for the wear, while I am reaping the benefit of having had oily skin then, which is: no wrinkles now…

Nah.

The bottom line is that I really don’t want to have a beer with the girls who stuffed me into my locker 35 years ago, or do shots with the guys who called me “four-eyes”. Heaven is being comfortable in your own skin, and hell really was being a pre-teen girl. And I have no desire to visit.