Well, I do declare!

de·clare

 verb \di-ˈkler\

de·claredde·clar·ing

Definition of DECLARE

transitive verb

1

: to make known formally, officially, or explicitly

2

obsolete : to make clear

• I still live in the small town I attended high school, as do a lot of my former classmates.  
• I graduated in 1989 and if I'm doing the maths right, that was twenty-two years ago.  
• We are all pushing or have achieved 40 years upon this Earth.  (Suck it Fake Rapture!)
• I have pushed two kids out of my body, ladies - you know what that does to your brain.

I had to make a run to The Walmart (small town rule #1:  stores are always proceeded by "The") yesterday after work and picking up Junior.  I only needed chicken bog supplies (chicken quarters, rice, sausage, celery, onions) so I checked out in the 20 items or less Express Lane.

The man in line before me was buying two tomatoes.  Junior and I were discussing God Knows What (conversations with him change every five seconds) when the man in front of me joined in and starts talking to me like he knows me.  After noticing the logo on his shirt (a vendor we use at work) I asked, "Do I know you?" (see also what having kids does to your brain)

This short, bald, Fu Man Chu-ed man with blue eyes says to me in an almost accusatory tone, "Well you should, you went to West Brunswick High School."

*blink*  *blink*

This is the part where I remember A) I'm in The Walmart, B) I'm toting a nearly six-year old with me, and  C) Even though I can hear the sweet sound of 10 pounds of chicken smacking upon that shiny bald head, Madea is NOT my middle name, so I casually wave him off, "Oh, I don't remember much about high school."  And that is very true, I can remember my fellow band nerds, folks who were nice to me and folks who were not so nice to me but NO, I can not remember every single person who attended school while I was there.

Twenty-two years later I am still fat, I still sport long brown curly hair, I still have beautiful buck teeth and I still have big boobs.  Thanks to Mary Kay skin care lessons and good mustache grooming, I am a very close representation of the 1989 me with slightly smaller hair and better makeup.  


I can guaran-damn-tee you that if I locate my 1989 year book I will not find one single photo of a short, bald, Fu Man Chu-ed man with blue eyes.  Why the hell am I expected to recognize you immediately, on the spot in The Damn Walmart twenty-two years later?


So hear me now Everyone I Went to High School With:  I don't give a shit about high school anymore.


But if you would like to say, "Hey, you look familiar, did we go to high school together?" I would LOVE to kill 20 minutes with you in the greeting card section down at The Walmart!