A college friend of mine recently posted that she had recently reconnected with a friend who “likely remembers me as a thin, hard drinking, meticulously maintained (nails, brows and hair every six weeks, ladies!) social butterfly that I am sitting here in my PJs with wet hair thinking about nursing the baby, going to Weight Watchers and purchasing and monogramming kindergarten supplies. Good God, what happened?”
Because, I am in fact, that kind of gal, I’m going to assume she’s talking about me.
Mysteriously, I went from being the gym rat who used to frequent her (now) husband’s tanning salon usually decked out in some meticulously put together, size 2 Ann Taylor ensemble in her shiny red car before complaining about a salad that was inevitably too filling. Quelle horreur.
Facebook is a unique experience, allowing you to connect with people who have known you in all of life’s various incarnations. In my particular circumstance:
- Qbert loving nerd who cut Corey Feldman pictures out of BOP! while listening to Huey Lewis and the News on her bedroom floor
- Globe-trotting, hair metal loving drama queen who mysteriously thought spandex dresses and over-the-knee boots were an appropriate choice for everyday high school wear. I did not go to Hooker Central High School either.
- Speech and debate obsessed honors student who actually read the Christian Science Monitor daily and took herself way too seriously
And then the aforementioned stint as a failed sorority girl (a complicated situation that to this day gives me nightmares to the point where I'm considering paying a decades old bill that's long since fallen off my credit report).
I will gleefully answer her question as to what happened. We grew up and are, despite the added responsibilities of adulthood, presumably far happier than we were sitting on the back steps of the sorority house smoking cigarettes.
If it’s any consolation, I’m wearing a shirt with bleach spots and pants with an elastic waistband. Parts of my anatomy are now only perky through virtue of under wire and pulling the straps too tight. I am so laughably out of shape, that I had to take 5 Advil to cure a headache resulting from a well-intentioned game of tennis (note: I’m much better at PlayStation Tennis than the real thing) and decided to sleep it off instead of blow drying my hair straight. My sun allergy has resulted in a laughable rash on both arms.
Dinner was a Diet Coke and a handful of Fritos.
I finally broke down and went to the spa last week because months of trying to save money with Sally Hansen’s home waxing kit left me with eyebrows the shape of sperm. The 70-hours of work on my plate will render me unable to get a pedicure so I’ll spend yet another week with hobbit feet or will embark on trying to do it myself (a scenario that will likely involve me cutting something I shouldn’t, spilling nail polish on the Pergo and at least two Band Aids). Thank Jesus for the closed toe shoe.
And at the risk of sounding all Dr. Phil, I’m weirdly ok with it. Deep down, I hope she is too. She certainly doesn't need me to tell her she has a wonderful family and a successful career she should be proud of. Brows can always be waxed, nails can always be done but living life in the now is a fleeting chance you'll miss if you blink. Should she want to escape for a self-indulgent weekend of girly debauchery our guest room is always open. I could use the excuse.
PS: Monogrammed school supplies are a necessity. How else is darling princess going to tell her stuff away from the other riff-raff? :)
ah, the good old days! I am so glad they are over!!! While I may have look better back then, I was definitely not the better person - and I am much happier now :)
Posted by: Elizabeth Bonura | August 28, 2008 at 12:21 PM