Who Are These People?

Recently, during an extended (er, perpetual?) bout of work-induced ennui, I stumbled across the Facebook page for my high school reunion.

It was more like stumbled into, made the kind of "Ew" noise that you make when you realize you've stepped in dog poo, and then stare in warped fascination at the bottom of your shoe. I hated high school, so it wasn't like I was actually looking to step back into that pile of steaming crap for the sake of nostalgia.

But as I eyed the link warily, I was reminded of something a friend said long ago regarding high school reunions. This was just a year or so out of high school. I was ranting (ranting, moi?) about how I'd never, ever go to a high school reunion. My friend, accustomed to my ranting, shrugged and said, "I'd go. Just to see who got fat."

Oh, yeah, the promise of Schadenfreude made me click that linky.

So there I was cringing, expecting some kind of horrible, twitching, frothing, PTSD fit, induced by the sight of teenage nemeses of long ago.

Instead, my reaction was, "Holy, Alzheimer's, Batman. Who are these people?"

I guess it's no surprise that the faces there are strangers, after a few--cough--decades. To be honest, while I remember hating high school and everything and everyone who walked its hallowed halls, the actual emotion, loathing, has evaporated in the passage of time.

But with the exception of one particular mean girl, who has had the decency to put on the requisite tonnage to satisfy my Schadenfreude, my high school class is a vast herd of strangers. Strangers whose only connection to me was an accident of geography.

And that's why, I won't be attending the reunion. Why spend money on what amounts to an expensive party with a bunch of strangers?

My money would be better spent on my favourite charity.