Months ago I was convinced I should return to Virginia for Longwood College’s Decade of the ’80s Reunion. The last time I went, it was the ’90s and I learned beer bongs were out and keg stands were in. (Some nice frat boys taught me the basics. They thought I was classy because my bottle of Jim Beam had a pouring spout.) To prepare for this trip, I did a liver cleanse and brought lots of TylenolPM to combat redeye jet lag.
This reunion was much different. Everyone who graduated prior to 1984 looked old. And I mean real old. A decade older than the rest of us. It was freaky and several of my friends noticed this rapid decelleration. This is when I was thankful I live in vapid California. Everyone told me I hadn’t changed, which was sweet, but I wasn’t sure if it was because I looked good or I always had a beer in my hand.
I soon learned I had changed. Jackie and I organized an after-party at a local bar. At 1 a.m. we both admitted we were tired, left, and went back to the hotel. You know you are getting old when you can’t make it to last call and TylenolPM and a hotel bed sound good.