I was excited to be able to go to my 25th high school reunion with my husband recently.
The main reason for my excitement was anticipating seeing my best friend from high school that I hadn't seen since my wedding day 24 years ago!
I only wish I could have heard more than 3/4 of the things she said, because the music the kids listen to these days is so LOUD! I might have found it more tolerable if the play list would have included Journey or Joan Jett or Rick Springfield or Michael Jackson before his second and subsequent plastic surgeries, but alas, no such luck. Random samplings of Garth Brooks and other young whippersnappers the kids dig was the order of the day. I found myself shouting to be heard and nodding with a smile on my face while hoping I could decipher what people were saying.
I think that means I am officially OLD. Well that, plus the tennis balls on my walker needing to be replaced are pointing in that direction.
Our babysitter, AKA oldest daughter, called twice to see when we were coming home, so we left early and I can't be sure because of the ringing, but I think I heard my eardrums sing the Hallelujah chorus.
When we got to the parking lot and my husband tried to start the truck, the engine light came on. We both held our breath and looked at each other in a panic. You see, when this happens at home, my husband has to call for the pliers. He lifts the hood and clinks, clanks, clunks around until it starts. This is the same truck that the driver has to crank the window down to reach to the outside of the truck to open the door so he can get out.
Fortunately, the engine light flickered and went off. And we breathed again. 'Cause is there anything classier'n asking the people at your 25th high school reunion if anyone has a pair of pliers you could borrow to start your 1994 pick up truck?
We laughed as we drove away and decided we were rich beyond measure. Pick up and all.
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