You can never go home again

Saturday afternoon. Well, that was (not) exciting. The high points of the homecoming game last night were that CHS won (not a common occurence for them) and that I got to see my dad. I never found any of my classmates, although they could have been there, because every time I thought someone might be an '85er, they turned out to be parents. Oh. My. God. I'm officially really, really old. People that look like my contemporaries have sons old enough to play high school football. Oh. My. God. If there had been alcohol available, you know I'd have been all over it.

Oh yes, and, lest I forget, what has happened to high school fashions??? The homecoming queens looked like trashy wannabes, in tight, revealing gowns and these God-awful clunky shoes. Hello? Ballgowns and delicate high heels anyone? On the positive side, there was a girl from band nominated for Queen, and I know that never happened while I was there. There were also a couple of girls who weren't thin (not that they were fat, mind you, just not thin) nominated, which made me smile. Heck, there was a chunky cheerleader, too, and that definitely never happened in the 80s. Back then, if the football team (who got to help winnow the list of candidates down) decided you were a dog (not pretty enough) or a pig (too fat), you were gone. Charmingly quaint, don't you think? Eating disorder anyone? Beyond even just the princesses, all of the kids looked so, um, messy. I know there were slobs when I was in school, but not the entire school! Seriously, not a prepster or cute girl dresser in the bunch, and I sat near the entrance (to look for my dad), so I saw them all come in. Baggy hoodies with threadbare t-shirts and jeans that dragged on the ground. What the heck? I think they need to add a class to the curriculum: How to Dress Like a Girl. And don't even get me started on their hair and makeup. Or the knockoff handbags. Ugh.

What a way to spend a Friday night. Hey, wait a minute...isn't that what I used to say in high school, too? Hmm.


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