posted Wed, 08 Jun 2005
More high school stories. Some of you have heard this one before, but it’s so good it bears re-telling.
You have to know this first, though.
This will come as a big surprise to most of you, but the CF has not always been the bombshell you see before you today. Nope, there was a time when she was a nerd.
You read that right.
A nerd who was not asked to a single high school dance. Well, except for when Mike N. asked me to the ROTC winter formal and I don’t think that counts because he asked every other girl in our chemistry class before he got to me.
Yes, I know this is a great shock, but for whatever reason, smart girls on the swim team who sew all their own unfashionable clothes are not usually on the top of the social ladder. Go figure.
So. When I went to my 20-year high school reunion, I was not expecting any boys – well, men, I guess – to pay any attention to me. I was going to the reunion only because my therapist thought it would be a good idea, not because there was anyone I wanted to see. None of the high school friends I kept in touch with were going.
(NB I had gone to see the therapist after a bad breakup. I took a spreadsheet of all my boyfriends up to then, thinking she should be able to look at the data – length of relationship, age of boyfriend, job, religion, and other info, and tell me what I was doing wrong after a few sessions. I was paying $60 an hour, after all. I didn’t want to waste my money. I thought three sessions ought to do the trick.)
I was sitting next to Scott K, on whom I’d had a crush from ninth through 11th grade, trying to get his attention. He was trying to get Elaine R’s attention. Elaine was just as nice and just as stunning as she was in high school, only now she had a PhD. Meanwhile, Ricky R was on my other side, talking to me. I was paying him hardly any attention.
Finally, Ricky said, in frustration, “Hey! I’m trying to flirt with you!’
I looked at him in bewilderment. “Who are you?”
“Don’t you remember me from school?” he asked.
“No,” I told him. I wished I remembered him. He was very nice looking – dressed well.
“I was the president of the senior class.”
“We moved back to the States after my junior year.”
“I was the captain of the football team!” he protested.
“I didn’t care about football.”
“My uncle was the president of Panama!”
“I wasn’t interested in politics back then,” I explained.
I looked over at Scott. He was still mooning over Elaine. I looked at Ricky. He was obviously interested in me. It might have been 20 years too late, and I knew I shouldn’t have been as excited about it as I was, but darnit, the captain of the football team was hitting on me!
And I had no idea what to do about it.
The working life: The rat race
1 day ago