The following story is based on characters and events from "First Time Fun on the Farm" and "Retro Moresome."
Prologue +++++
Home from another uneventful workday, I flipped through the daily mail until I stopped at a greeting card sized envelope addressed to Ms. Barbara Rogers. "Okay, this looks suspicious." Having been married and residing under my married name for over 20 years, it was strange to have anything addressed to my maiden name. Slicing it open, I pulled out what at first glance appeared to be another invite to another niece or nephew's graduation. "So, which one of the kids is graduating high school this year?"
Being part of a large family means having a never-ending line of relatives hitting us up for another twenty or thirty bucks. We may not have seen these kids in person since they grew into teenagers, but now we're supposed to contribute to their college entertainment funds. I tossed the invite aside, opting to get out of my work clothes and prepare dinner.
It couldn't have been a half-hour later, when I got my monthly phone call from Natalie Norwood-"Woody," now Sherwin, one of my dearest friends since grade school. We were as close as two women can be, without being sisters or lesbians.
"Well Betty [from Backseat Betty], did ya get yours? Are you going? We HAVE to go!" When excited, Woody was apt to ask multiple questions.
"What?"
"...the twenty-five year reunion invitation, silly!"
"Oh THAT! Is that what it was? Yeah, it came today," I acknowledged, laying out some salad fixings.
"Well?" She insisted, expecting more enthusiasm from my end of the line.
"God Wood, it's been twenty-five friggin' years; I doubt we'd recognize anybody," I shrugged.
"That's the whole idea, Barb; trying to guess who's who and how they turned out after all these years," she offered.
"I don't know. We went to Donny's 25
th
last year and it was a total bust. Most of the women were uppity backyard biddies wanting to trade recipes and gossip. They spent most of the time bitching about how unfulfilled their shallow lives were. Most of the guys were balding hoodoos who spent most of the time watching sports in the bar," I recalled.
"Hey, you said some of them were rather 'friendly'," she reminded me.
"Okay, there were a few hotties, but they were ball-and-chained to their wives. It was the portly baldies with liquid courage that were hitting on me -- HA!" I laughed.
"Donny graduated from a big city high school. Ours will be different. Hell, we're talking little Richfield High --we'll know EVERYBODY! Besides, I need an excuse to get out of Dodge. I'm in desperate need of an adventure!
"Things are still shaky on the home front?" I asked, knowing full well I was opening a can of worms.
A deep sigh followed by dead silence told me she was either unable to talk and/or things were even worse than I had expected. "Okay, okay, we'll go!" I relented. "I'll set up two rooms at the (Richfield) Inn, just in case you need to get lucky -- how's that?"
"Oh yes, Barb that sounds like a wonderful recipe!" Natalie's nonsense reply confirmed my first suspicion. Her husband, Bret must be nearby.
We reminisced and chatted for the next half-hour using the same secret code we developed in school. It was agreed, we would reserve adjoining rooms at the Inn, since it was the only lodging in that one-horse home town that offered accommodations close to resembling a suite. We briefly touched on our choices of what-to-wear, before she disclosed that she had some sort of a surprise. Since we had seen each other she had treated herself to a boob job. Either that or she just bought a five thousand dollar melonballer. I could be rusty at deciphering our trusty old code.
You can never go home again +++++
In deference to James Agee or Thomas Wolfe, whoever penned that quote, I personally believe it's perfectly fine to go back home for a visit from time to time; just pack plenty of condoms.
My hubby, having escorted me to previous hometown events, had no interest in attending another boring reunion. Considering my own low expectations, I couldn't blame him. Making the two-hour drive by my lonesome, I psychologically braced myself for a tedious day of aftershocks, pot bellies, and misbegotten dreams. However, catching a glimpse of an aged "Go Bulldogs" poster under the viaduct at Harper's corner, I couldn't resist a wide-eyed smile. Some ambitious soul had marked through "dogs" and spray-painted over "FROGS." What a sweet tribute to the class of 1968. We weren't a class of hell raisers by any stretch; just minor rebels looking for a cause. It wasn't until I checked into the Inn and Natalie showed up that the otherwise bleak September day started to brighten up.
"So Wood, how was the flight?" I asked, watching her unpack. The three-year lag since we'd seen each other soon melted away, as the tall, slender long-haired brunette hung up a number of tops, several pairs of slacks and a low-cut little red dress.
"It was okay; nothing special. It's REALLY special getting away from the asshole and seeing you again!"
"Great to see you too, Wood. No matter what else happens this weekend. It IS special to see YOU!"
"So you have yet to comment on my latest addition, or add-ons I should say," she briskly twirled around to proudly display her new store-bought chest.
"WOW, they look..."
"I know; looks like I swallowed a pair of Sunkist navels," her face reddened.
"Well, now that you mention it, they are definitely round, aren't they?" I reacted at her two gravity-defying symmetrical orbs. "Well hey, they can't call ya 'Flat Nat' anymore," I smirked.
"Of course I could never compete with your big 'ol homegrown hangers, but what-the-hell, I've finally got a figure."
"Yes Ma'am you DO and I'll bet the guys love 'em," I smiled.
