Months ago I was convinced I should return to Virginia for Longwood College’s Decade of the ’80s Reunion.  The last time I went, it was the ’90s and I learned beer bongs were out and keg stands were in.  (Some nice frat boys taught me the basics.  They thought I was classy because my bottle of Jim Beam had a pouring spout.)  To prepare for this trip, I did a liver cleanse and brought lots of TylenolPM to combat redeye jet lag.

This reunion was much different.  Everyone who graduated prior to 1984 looked old.  And I mean real old.  A decade older than the rest of us.  It was freaky and several of my friends noticed this rapid decelleration.  This is when I was thankful I live in vapid California.  Everyone told me I hadn’t changed, which was sweet, but I wasn’t sure if it was because I looked good or I always had a beer in my hand.

I soon learned I had changed.  Jackie and I organized an after-party at a local bar.  At 1 a.m. we both admitted we were tired, left, and went back to the hotel.  You know you are getting old when you can’t make it to last call and TylenolPM and a hotel bed sound good.