High School Musical

So . . . eventful weekend.

We went to Hub's 20th high school reunion this past weekend, despite his initial protests and misgivings.

"No one knew me, and I didn't know anyone," he glumly remarked when he received the invitation.

"All the better!" I giggled. "That's a recipe for fun!"

And so it was.

For that evening, I adopted the persona of a fellow graduate, approaching shocked classmates with tales of debauchery, like "Oh my God! Do you remember when we hotwired that car and skipped the fence at that apartment complex and skinny dipped in the pool, drunk?"

In hindsight, I wish I hadn't chosen to say that to what appeared to be a pastor, but really, it was the $7.50 cash bar fake mojitos talking, mostly.

I managed to coerce most of the graduating class into seeking out Hub to say hello and pretending to remember him (he was right, they didn't). He did the same thing, pretty much.

By the end of the evening, everyone had figured out who had come out (of the closet), flipped out (of their minds), or gotten out (of prison). There were a few that looked like ex-strippers, a few that looked like ex-cons, and the majority that looked like they hadn't seen the backside of fun in very nearly 20 years.

Hub spent the evening giggling at me. Hell, MOST people did. The cheerleaders that never knew Hub ended the evening kissing his face and telling him how much they loved us both (granted, Hub looked hot, and granted, they were on their 3rd or 4th fake mojito, too.)

I didn't go to my reunion. I can't imagine I would have had NEARLY as much fun as I had at his, though.