When it arrived, the invitation was not unexpected but still created disquiet. Stuck on the fridge with a seahorse magnet, it sent out an invisible pulse with every rummage for raspberries or Fanta within. Time to text the friends I shared everything with in 1984.
Body waves, first Island Coolers, Esprit windcheaters, a passion for Perfect Match , debates about Rob Lowe v Andrew McCarthy (not even really a question). Kate Halfpenny (centre, in blue top) at her year 12 camp in 1984. So.
Ladies. We going to our 40th school reunion lunch? There are good reasons high school reunions are fear and loathing scenarios. Not least the reality you’d had great times and friends, but not many you were interested in revisiting over intervening decades.
I had anxiety that teenage insecurities about thighs and bad fringes would be triggered, along with memories of the smell of the bathroom incinerator and the time I faked a faint on camp. Concerns my life went in unexpected post-school directions I didn’t want to explain. The knowledge I needed to apologise to Sue for the drunken 21st speech.
And yeah, had to decide what to wear. Kate Halfpenny (bottom row, centre) at her Korowa school reunion this year. That bit was cinchy in the end, once I decided not to die wondering, then decided on a cool sexy look.
Derailed on the day by family houseguests and a car flat battery, I had a five-second shower while my grandniece Seren chose olive cargo pants with a silk shirt and ankle boots, no make.