My twenty-year reunion. Did I have the nerve to go? A full sixty pounds heavier than I had been in high school? I couldn’t decide till the very last minute. Last second, even. I had been smart enough to cover my bases, though. Before I mailed my reservations in July, I was honest with Allen: “Honey, you have to understand one thing. The fact that I’m sending in this forty-dollar registration fee doesn’t necessarily mean I will have the nerve to go. Even if I do phenomenally well on my diet this next month, I will still be very fat for the reunion on August eighteenth. You must realize that we might be wasting the forty dollars. And you can’t get upset with me if that happens.”
Allen was incredibly understanding: “The forty dollars doesn’t matter. It’s just important to me that you feel you can go.” Quite frankly, the forty dollars did matter. In fact, I had to send a money order for the registration fee because our checkbook balance was so precariously low at the time that a check might have bounced if it weren’t cashed at exactly the right moment.
I came home from my heavenly Seaside vacation with Jennifer late Friday afternoon. My class reunion was scheduled for the weekend.
On Friday night, I went to several different stores. Trying to lose all the weight I possibly could, I had waited till the day before my reunion to go shopping for that perfect dress. You know, the one that would make me look ten years younger and fifty pounds slimmer. Good luck, Rosie!
Needless to say, I did not find the dress. But Jenny and I did have some good laughs over how I looked in those supposed “fat-girl” clothes. That night I resolved that I would someday establish a clothing store for fat ladies. A serious clothing store for fat ladies. Not some dumb establishment where they hire other fat ladies to tell you how “fabulous” you look in that size-twenty-four-and-a-half belted affair with hip ruffles and shoulder pads. (Oh, please, spare me that mental image!)
Well, I wasn’t depressed by what could have been a truly depressing experience. I was more determined than ever to lose another sixty pounds superfast. Let’s see… I had a full twenty-four hours….
Saturday morning, I had not yet decided if I could make the final commitment. It was still too scary. I had this horrible vision of myself hesitating in the doorway of the reception hall. Every woman in the room was dressed as if ready to go to the Academy Awards, with figures like Dolly Parton and jewelry to make even Elizabeth Taylor envious. Every hair on every head was perfectly styled and outrageously curly and full. Every fingernail was painted and extended a full half inch over the end of each slender finger. Every woman wore five-inch heels and had shapely legs. Every female had one hand gracefully resting upon her hip, while the other hand femininely held a champagne goblet from which the owner demurely sipped. Almost as if choreographed, every head turned as I entered, and an audible gasp of disapproval rose up, as did one corner of every mouth, registering disdain! With a mental picture like that, no wonder I couldn’t commit myself!
Allen assumed that we were going and told me how proud he was to be my husband. Nevertheless, huge doubts nagged at me throughout the day. Could I really go and expose to all my old classmates the awful thing I had done to myself? Could I, Madison High’s 1970 Rose Festival princess, openly acknowledge the affair I’d had with chocolate all these years?
When Allen was shaving and I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup, I warned him, “I’m still not sure that I can handle this.” As we were going out the door, and all the children were waving good-bye, I told them, “We might be back in a few minutes because I’m feeling extremely insecure about going.”
Their “Oh, Mom, you look gorgeous!” response didn’t help me decide, either. While on the way, I asked Allen, “Do I honestly want to put myself through this humiliation?”
Allen replied reassuringly, “Honey, you’re going to have a super time.” Upon arriving, I found myself biting my lips. I didn’t have to get out of the car. I was an adult now. I could do whatever I wanted, and no one could ground me or anything!
“What do you think, Allen? Am I a complete fool to go in there?” He just grinned and took my arm, ushering me into the lobby of the hotel. My palms were sweaty, I was swallowing hard. It was not too late. No one had seen me yet. No one knew I was in the building. If we left now, I’d be safe. I stopped and turned to Allen, shaking slightly. “I haven’t decided if I have the nerve to go in, Allen,”
Dear, sweet Allen. Still my knight in shining armor. What would I ever do without him? “Honey, you’re beautiful. Stop worrying.”
And then… we were there. No going back now. Too late to retreat. But I didn’t need to retreat! Ha! There was one important factor I had not taken into consideration: I was not the only person in the room who was twenty years older. Why, the room was full of pot bellies, bald heads, wrinkles, and gray hairs. And, yessss! Oh, thank you, God. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I was not the fattest person there. Not by a long shot. I actually counted, and there were at least ten people bigger than I. In fact, I quickly came to the conclusion that, what I made up for in weight, I lacked in wrinkles.
It was splendid to see old friends. With Allen by my side, I felt invincible. We strolled all over that banquet room. Most people recognized me, even before they looked at my name tag. I think that was a good sign. I didn’t eat much, in spite of a lovely buffet table. And I didn’t have my picture taken. After all, there was no baby to hold, and I was at this reunion by the skin of my teeth. If pictures really do put on ten pounds, I would have been in serious trouble!
The evening was incredibly fun. I learned a few things, too. No, I’m not going into some phoney dissertation, with lips quivering, about looks not mattering after all. How I looked mattered like crazy. If I had been one ounce heavier, I could never have walked into that room to begin with. I learned that, for the most part, men get sexier and women just get older. I mean, here was this roomful of virile, handsomely mature men… and a bunch of middle-aged women trying desperately to look as they did in high school.
I learned that if you are once a member of the “center-hall” gang, you are always a member. You know, that very elite group who congregate in a very visible place. The group you can’t even say “Hi” to without a sort of understood permission. Well, they were were there, big as life. And where were they parked for the night? In the center of the room. I’m not kidding you. And, yes, it was understood that the center of the room was their territory. And, no, I couldn’t say “Hi.” (But I couldn’t help chuckling. And you know what? Even center-hall girls get wrinkles!)
I learned that many people remember many things about you that you don’t remember about yourself. I learned that I have missed out on much more than I thought, that breaking out of the fat-jail I have been in for years is more fun than I could have dreamed. And, oh… yes… I learned that if you wear two girdles at one time, you shouldn’t sit down for too long, or the top girdle will roll into a tight knot around your waist and almost cut you in half!
August 1990, 204 pounds. This is the dress I wore to my 20-year reunion. This picture was taken a few days after, with my two beautiful daughters, Jennifer and Tiffany.