A Brood of Hens

I have had THE most fun this past week watching my high school girlfriends plan a dinner with the purpose of giving us a chance to catch up in person. In said planning - which has resembled the execution expertise required to manage military troups and enough monkey wrenches to make me just laugh to myself - I confirmed why getting together is so hard. It is akin to herding cats. You get three in the basket, the fourth is just out of reach, and while you are celebrating the capture of the missing one...you realize that the other three are back out roaming about.

It is probably at this point that most people go..."ya know...how about we just wait for the next reunion?" But NO...if the Class of 1981 is anything...and it is many things...it is definitely alarmingly persistent. So, as there have been approximately 73 direct messages sent back and forth...I am pleased to note that we are almost through planning. Which is a good thing...as we are dining in two weeks. Yay for us!

In considering the fact that we were planning a "hen party"...I went to the source of all knowledge outside of the Holy Bible (and that would be Wikipedia) and found that a group of hens is called a brood. Not a gaggle...that's geese. A brood.

I started thinking what the e-mails would look like if we sent these at ten year intervals...and here's just a sampling of what issues we might have (or actually did) have.

Age 10: Well, my Mom says that I can only invite 10 people, so because Ashley thinks she's hot snot...she isn't invited. OH, be sure that you bring your records because we'll be learning how to do the robot. Oh shoot...my Mom says that I have to invite Ashley because she already mentioned it to her Mom, so somebody is going to have to have their feelings hurt. Maybe I won't invite Bambi because she always goes to sleep anyway, or Candi because she always calls her Dad to pick her up. OH, we are going to eat sloppy joes. SO much fun!!

Age 20: Um, yeah, I kind of invited my boyfriend and his five friends so I need to even things up a little bit. Yeah, I'd invite Dani but she is SUCH a flirt. And for the last time...NO, we can't build a beer pyramid. That's too tacky.

Age 30: OH, I would love to go to lunch but I have to bring the kids. Yeah, Edgar is out hunting AGAIN, and my parents are on a cruise. I don't care where we eat as long as it is kid-friendly. OH, and we can't not invite Frannie because she is SO suffering from the baby blues and she has not been able to lose a pound of that weight she gained. What was she eating during that pregnancy, anyway? Lard? No, we have to go early because the kids will be cranky and they always act out when there's an audience.

Age 40: I would absolutely adore the chance to get together...but I have a cheerleading competition for Grace, a baseball tournament that I'm missing for Harrison, and Isaac has a fever so I can't leave him with my sister Jennifer. She and her husband Kevin are having problems anyway...something about his secretary Lorna, and Belize, and whatever. Would it be possible for us to postpone that until next weekend? OH, wait, that won't work either...

Age 46: Just set a date...no photos below the shoulders or I am NOT coming. Yeah, the whole sitting on the floor thing sounds great except that I don't think it would be attractive for me to roll around there like Shamu waiting for everyone to quit laughing as I try to get up. Karaoke? Um, NO. I don't care where we eat, and nobody is bigger than I am so I do NOT want to hear it. Thirty pounds? Amateur.

Age 50: Karaoke? Sure, why not! I love AC/DC! No, Mary can't come...she got botox last week and can't move her face. No, really. She looks like she's going "What the ?" and doesn't have to say a word. Tragic. No, Nancy is still planning Miss Odell's 80th birthday party and Prissy's wedding. She is in a state. Hasn't eaten since last Tuesday. Oh, we can't go THERE. No, Quinn has IBS, and Rachel refuses to consume anything containing carbohydrates. Well, anything except wine.

Age 60: The 15th? Well, I don't know. I have the grandchildren that weekend. I just don't think that one of our dinners is exactly the place for them. I mean, last time, Sara and Terri were talking about Viagra and I've been married 37 years and those two made me blush. And NO, I am not singing "Shook Me All Night Long" with the band. I've never lived it down and that was AGES ago.

Age 70: Sure. Have time. Where? When?

Age 80: I can't eat out without it just either going straight through me or all down the front of me. Can't we just sit somewhere and talk? I would so love that. I've been to too many funerals lately.

Age 90: Eh?

Yeah, I can see our brood...the spirited, sassy, strong class of 1981 in all our glory then...with the added bonus of maturity. We may be packing a few extra pounds...but we either tolerate them because we are finally comfortable in our own skin, it seems a reasonable tradeoff as a side effect of medication because at least we FEEL so much better...or our metabolisms retired long before we thought they would.

I look forward to seeing the sweet faces of the brood...of the laughs we'll share, the of the memories we'll make. Whether we were close or not then really doesn't matter now. What really matters is that we survived. I don't know about you...but I'm very happy to look around and see that I am not alone in this boat.

So, as we discuss golf carts, restaurant choices, karaoke (um, NO thank you unless you want to hear Foo Fighters...just sayin') and how we'll actually get there, I am really looking forward to hanging out with my brood. Later!