Bolting and Jiggling

01/09/2013 09:10

     Honestly, the word reunion always freaks me out. Nothing comes good from reunion, nothing, ever. Every time a reunion letter was found in my mail box, I felt like receiving a joy-ride invitation from Ted Bundy. Then I would think hard for a reason to bolt, but eventually I end up coming anyway. Dressing like an eerie prom nighter and hoping I would crash it all Bloody Carrie style.

The reunion couple of days ago, was a disaster by the way. I didn’t recognize most of the people and the food literally tasted like foot. Standing in the corner obviously didn’t work, coz somehow annoying monsters from the past always found their way to haunt me:

  1. Enemies: “Oh… so you’re a writer now? How come I never hear about your books? They didn’t make best seller, did they? Don’t you receive salary every 6 month? Can we even call that a job?”
  2. Friends: “Della! OMG! Guys, this is Della! Remember her? She’s the one boobies so small, they didn’t even jiggle when the coach asked her to jump during PE!”
  3. Ex-boyfriend: “This is my beautiful wife, Emily. And our baby son, Timothy. So… you came alone? Where’s your gay friend?”

     Okay, first… I have enough money from my writing I can at least buy an elder-diaper to wear whenever I’m too lazy to go to the bathroom thank you very much. Second, my boobies are growing so well they can fit hands now. Most importantly, jiggle. Lastly, going with a gay friend is the best option. At least when I'm drunk enough to do something stupid, there’s always someone more embarrassing than me for correcting people’s clothes all the time with his little finger. Gays are amazing. Regardless the fact that they will keep on arguing with us, about who should hit on the waiter. ‘the waiter is mine! No he’s mine! Look at his eyebrows!’

     But… at the end of the day. Coming home to my small apartment, eating left-over food, baby-talking to my pets, watching some old European horror movies and finally sleeping… with various ballerina positions. Nothing, is better than that. So fuck reunion, fuck baby Timothy, I’m definitely bolting next year.