Almost didn’t go. A bout with food poisoning or some type of bug that makes you worship the porcelain god tried to take me out and detain me from a night with the girls, but I muscled through the nausea and found myself walking through the restaurant doors anyway. This wasn’t just dinner with any girls, this was dinner with ladies I hadn’t seen in ten years. This was a reunion dinner with my past.
Admittedly, bug or no bug, I was hesitant to go anyways. Meeting up with a gaggle full of sorority girls ten years later to compare rings, houses, and re-hash crazy college stories didn’t quite float my boat. Not really my cup of tea. But the thought of missing out on this very rare opportunity and not seeing them for perhaps another ten years made me leave my porcelain praying position and fight for parking among the Denver Friday fun-finders.
I entered the room and was shocked to see so many lovely and familiar faces. Eighteen had officially RSVP’d through Facebook and probably fought the same type of hesitations I did when deciding on whether or not to attend. (Ok, maybe not the same hesitations since I’m sure not everyone had been living on a diet consisting of saltines and sprite the last 24 hours.) But I’m sure I’m not the only one who had mixed feelings or girl anxieties on this impromptu fete.
To my surprise, any anxious feelings melted away with each and every hug and smile as new girls entered into the mix. No matter what, it’s always awkward connecting again after a decade of distance, but the hugs were genuine and the laughter throughout the table was enough to raise eyebrows from the rest of the room. With eighteen thirty-somethings, how could we not? (Funny flashback of causing a car accident on Shields while we were taking an official group photo outside the sorority house made me just grin right now.) So it wasn’t surprising when the twenty-five year old birthday boy celebrating across the room came and sprawled across our table for a group photo. We laughed, waved, and then told Mr. Jailbate and his friends to have a good night and move along. I’m sure somewhere we’re on Facebook right now. Great.
As I migrated from one end of the table to the other in order to play catch-up with as many as I could, stories and memories kept flooding back and upping the laugh factor even more. Who remembers being twenty-one and still having flip flops and shower caddies? And although we lived together for two years in the house on Shields street, it was really difficult to remember what we were all there for academically. That was a fun game–name that major. There were a few language majors, physical therapy, several PR and journalism junkies, a music major, and a few more business majors to boot. I personally was the only one in speech communication. That I do remember! So it was fun to find out that many of the girls were now teachers, stay at home moms, nurses and therapists in the medical profession. There was also a fire-fighter and personal trainer, a PR marketer for a college, and a finance gal as well. I was the only photographer. (And no, I did not bring my camera…I was off duty and did not want to be that girl.)
The evening came to a close and it was time to take my sickee self home. I still can’t believe it’s been ten years since college. College. Just a reminder how time really does fly and stands still for no one. All the more reason to get crackin’ on that next list. I don’t know why I expected it, but there was no comparing, no “I’m doing better than you,” and no “Oh, that’s what you’re doing?” At least not on my end. There were a few missing in action who were definitely missed that I’ll have to be sure to follow up with, but it was fun to wave to those who were able to make it. I just hope it’s not another ten years until the next one.
Life Before The Lottery . . . The 30x30 List 