Senior Prom Weekend

“Mya, I’ve decided we can’t go to the races because I need to get in a long workout and go to the beach to work on my tan. I want to look good for my 20th reunion,” explained Bobby. I rolled my eyes at him, “I don’t see how one day at the gym is going to make a difference, but I won’t argue missing horse races for the beach. You’re going to look like you’re doing well just by showing up with a girlfriend half your age. Maybe we can swing by my 20th kindergarten reunion afterwards. Your old classmates probably all have been through their first divorces by now and have to find babysitters to even go to this thing. I mean, things probably aren’t great for a lot of them. Let me also remind you that you are bald. You can really only look so young without hair.” He was busy ignoring me at this point. “Is Chris going? Can we tell people he got a sex change if he doesn’t go?”

Bobby got a Facebook invite to his 20th high school reunion several months ago and we decided to book our east coast summer visit to include the reunion. I thought it would be a good bit to meet some of the people he grew up with and it was going to be at one of my favorite D.C. venues in Georgetown. I went to college in D.C. and I don’t get to visit very often. The Sequoia on the waterfront brings back many great memories and I figured I may get to see some of my friends for lunch or a drink if we were spending reunion weekend in the District. As our trip approached the venue began to shift closer and closer to Bobby’s hometown and further and further away from the civilization downtown. Actually, it’s probably more accurate to say the venue strayed further from sophistication and closer to red neck. It was certainly disappointing that I wouldn’t get to see any of my friends, but I was ecstatic at the opportunity to see where Bobby grew up.

“No, Chris isn’t going. Tell them whatever you want, but they probably see him on Facebook and know that’s not true. Can you please not make a big deal about your age? I don’t want people to think I have a trophy girlfriend,” Bobby responded. I nearly spit out my drink, “Trophy girlfriend?! That would imply that I’m a gold digger, which would imply that you are rich. We all know that’s not the case. They’ll probably think you gave me herpes and now I’m stuck with you. I’m definitely telling people we met because you and my dad were frat brothers.” I know Bobby can take an age joke, but I wondered if his classmates would have the same winning attitude. I realized that they may not appreciate my sense of humor and decided to go with the more believable notion that we met on Craig’s List under the “Strictly Platonic” classifieds. Perhaps I would throw in that we were in the process of consulting with a psychic about our potential to successfully have the child with gills and webbed feet that I have always dreamed about. Hopefully none of them have read Geek Love, because that would completely give me away.

This trip east was also the first time I got to meet Bobby’s younger brother. Chad is five years younger than Bobby chronologically, but he’s light years ahead in the traditional steps of life. He is married, has three small children, and a house in the suburbs. It’s not 100% Bobby’s fault he’s so far behind though. Southern California is like Never, Never Land. Tinker Bell whisks the Peter Pans of the world off to sunny San Diego post-college, before they have a chance to settle down, so they can never grow up and just playyyyyy! In California years, he is on the right schedule and will probably be ready to settle into marriage and a family sometime in the next decade.

I love being around little kids. I like to think of them as really short people who say funny things and brag about how they can use the toilet by themselves. I respect them for their love of things that light up and sparkle. I came prepared with toys that I liked, hoping to win them over and spend as much time as possible asking them complex questions that they would undeniably force them to make up answers. This is considerably more fun than conversing with the majority of adults. Since Bobby arrived the night before me to his brother’s house I already knew that his niece wasn’t very fond of him. Most children are fascinated by his shiny, hairless head, but I think it scared his niece. I’m with her on this one, it scared the shit out of me when I saw it for the first time too. Since I came prepared with a tiny stuffed dog in a tiny pink purse with a tiny bowl and a tiny brush and a teeny tiny dog treat, just perfect for her 3-year-old tiny hands to carry around, I won her immediate affection. When I asked her why if she didn’t like Uncle Bobby she told me because he wasn’t saying hi to her. I didn’t want to call bullshit on a 3-year-old, but I had seen him say hi to her several times. Oh well, we probably wouldn’t see the little girl for another year. Maybe by then she would forget she was scared of him and would find a TV show starring a funny bald man that she could relate to her Uncle Bobby.

We only spent a few hours with the family before passing out for the night. Bobby and I needed to be up early to get to his friends’ boat for reunion day, and I think everyone can now understand how important schedules are to Bobby. Sleeping in was certainly not allowed, regardless of jetlag. There’s nothing like waking up in a twin bed with a child guardrail, surrounded by Hello Kitty and pink rabbits, next to a grown man who is wearing nothing but his underwear, to make you feel like a pervert. It took me a moment to realize this wasn’t a Michael Jackson inspired nightmare and then another moment to figure out how to maneuver past the child guardrail with my cramped legs from not moving all night long. Mr. Schedule was lecturing me on time management and shooing me out the door while I was trying to enjoy my coffee and admire his sumo wrestler-shaped baby nephew.

We spent the day on a boat in the Potomac with four of Bobby’s old classmates. Our crew consisted of the amazing couple who owned the boat, a drinking light-weight Army captain deemed the “Commander” (a title he made sure we wouldn’t forget), and Bobby’s high school sweetheart. After swimming in the smelly Potomac and eating my weight in jelly beans, I wasn’t feeling very glorious. So in the end, it wasn’t the senior citizens that racked out early. Yours truly was hiding in a cave in the boat by 9:30, cursing myself for drinking so many Red Bulls and vodka, instead of sticking to my normal mixer of ice. I was nauseated, jittery, and in no mood to tell extravagant stories to a group of strangers I would never see again. Bobby’s failing memory didn’t help because he couldn’t remember anyone’s name and as they came up to chat with him, awkwardly looking at me like I was some lost puppy following him around, I would kick him in the shin under the table while giving him a look of desperation wanting an introduction. He would just look at me, confused and giggling like a little girl, before I just gave up and went ahead to introduce myself. I gave up after about 45 minutes of this, accepting that I wasted wearing a new dress that would have been better saved for another night.

The actual reunion was a great disappointment to Bobby, who later crawled in bed and asked if we could go back to San Diego…like that moment…to our lives far, far away from these people. I knew it must have been bad if he preferred our disorganized shoebox condo with a poorly house-trained Chihuahua to summing up the past 20 years in a 2 minute speech with the people he attended his senior prom with so many year ago. I was well rested and ready to head to Philly for the next leg of my trip east, but Bobby was kicking himself for trying to drink like he was 20 years younger. The few hours of sleep he got didn’t compensate for the full day and night of drinking. I drove the car back the next morning for fear that Bobby would get a DUI if pulled over for his utter lack of driving aptitude. We parted ways later that day, more importantly we both parted with Bobby’s high school hometown. There’s nothing wrong with the place, but then again I personally can’t find anything right about any small town.