Reunion Countdown
©Lisa Barker
By the time this column is printed I will have already gone to my twentieth reunion, I will have survived the paralysis that will set in mere moments before we pull up to the old high school.
For the umpteenth time I will discreetly hitch up my skirt hoping that my pantyhose don’t twang off like an over-stretched rubber band and that my skirt doesn’t drop like oh so many home videos we’ve watched on television.
I really hope I’ll see ‘you-know-who’ and I hope he has a potbelly and a receding hairline. You know who. He’s the guy who was your first love but he didn’t even know it.









