Last week I was out at the coast with Derrick’s family. We had a great time, but I missed my 20-year high school reunion in the process. I didn’t mind missing it, mainly because a) I can keep in touch with a lot of people through facebook, and b) I am not quite as skinny, beautiful, and rich as I’d planned to be by my 20th. (I will not tell you which reason carried more weight. Pun intended.) However, when the night of the reunion came and I wasn’t there, I was suddenly sorry that I wasn’t going to see my old friends. I sent my sister a text, hoping she could cheer me up. It went something like this:
Me: “I am really bummed I missed the reunion. Not another one for ten years! Make me feel okay that I missed it.”
Sis: “It’s okay. You can go to your 30-year. You’ll probably be a lot skinnier by then.”
Me: “That was mean.”
I don’t think Jamy deserves any more texts from me, but I’m going to send her one last one to tell her she’s Too Big For Her Britches. Pun intended–especially now that she’s four months along.
Bring it on, preggo. Bring it on.