I talked, or rather texted, with my best friend last night, and she convinced me that I could handle the reunion. I am still not quite sure about it, but I think that I'm going to try. At least she'll be there for moral support.
I tried to figure out what I'm going to wear, and the whole time I was sorting through clothing, I was more or less hating the cliched nature of that activity. Part of me really just wants to put on old jeans, whatever t-shirt happens to come to hand when I reach into the closet, my Chacos, and go. And yes, I would, of course, have my hair pulled up into the ubiquitous ponytail...
Another silly part of me wants to find the vampiest, trampiest items in my wardrobe and combine them in odd ways. Curl all my hair into ringlets. Wear a lot of blue eyeshadow (I think I'd have to buy some of that...) and Cleopatra eyeliner. Find some fishnet hose. Get out those really, really big silver hoops I have and some of my grandmothers' old costume jewelry. See if I can balance in heels without my knee giving out. You know, that sort of thing. I have a very warped sense of humor these days, and just the thought of going in like that amuses the hell out of me. "Hey, y'all. It's me! Have I changed much?"
In reality, I will undoubtedly look just exactly like what I am, "the schoolmarm." It's okay. I can pull that costume out of the closet with relative ease. It's socially acceptable, it's fairly tidy and modest, and I'm comfortable in it. I wear it about nine months out of the year, anyway....
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And then you said.....