As you may have seen in previous posts, my 20th high school reunion was a week-and-a-half ago. Long enough, I think, to have mentally processed most of it, reviewed that night's conversations, regrets and triumphs (though I don't know if I'd call drinking the perfect volume of Bell's Oberon to ignite my charms while staying just this side of nausea a triumph.).
So, it's 10 days behind me. Almost a fortnight. And still, I am having dreams about my stupid renunion every single night. These dreams are, of course, different from the real event and hazy and featuring a rotating cast of my classmates. But the one thing that stays the same is that I'm hot. Irresistible to every male I went to school with. And I know it. And it makes me very, very happy.
Last night I was sauntering around, flashing my bright white teeth and batting my bronzed lids while wearing my satiny, navy blue night shirt. It all seemed completely appropriate and, even, wise to have chosen that particular ensemble since it showed off my legs and highlighted my eyes.
My subsconscious is obviously trying to extinguish some small fires in there.
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