Don't Take Me Seriously - Book - Page 117
Walker
Continued from A1
I have no answer that seems plausible, except
maybe that we were all unwitting subjects of some
secret government experiment that warped time.
However, as they say, laughter is the best medicine. So, herein, we find the top 10 responses overheard at high school reunions of 10, 20, 30 and 40
years.
“How are you?”
10 years: “Really good.”
20 years: “Pretty good. I just took off 20
pounds.”
30 years: “Well, my doctor made me cut out salt,
and he says I need to lose 20 pounds.”
40 years: “My second heart surgery is working
better than the first.”
“You look great!”
10 years: “Thanks, I’ve been working out.”
20 years: “Thanks, I had these put in last year.”
30 years: “Thanks, I had those taken out last
year.”
40 years: “Liar.”
“What have you been up to?”
10 years: “Got my degree in English literature.”
20 years: “I have a great new product to show
you.”
30 years: “Doing some consulting work, a little
of this and that, you know.”
40 years: “Reading the obits and trying to manage the pain.”
“Where do you live now?”
10 years: “I’m still here in town.”
20 years: “We’re living in Texas.”
30 years: “After the divorce I moved back to
town to take care of my mother.”
40 years: “I’ll die in this freaking town.”
“Whatever happened to so-and-so?”
10 years: “I heard he joined the Army.”
20 years: “I heard he went to prison.”
30 years: “I heard he died.”
40 years: “Who?”
“Weren’t you going to be a millionaire?”
10 years: “Still working on it.”
20 years: “Doing some investing. I’ll get there.”
30 years: “I’ve got a million in debt, does that
count?”
40 years: “You must be thinking of someone
else.”
“Do you remember our senior prom night?”
10 years: “That was one wild party.”
20 years: “Shhhhh. Not in front of my wife.”
30 years: “I’m locking my daughter up on her
prom night.”
40 years: “That felony cost me some good jobs.”
“I had such a crush on you in high school.”
10 years: “How come you never told me?”
20 years: “Isn’t she sweet, Honey?”
30 years: “Want to get a room?”
40 years: “Want to get a room?”
“Do you remember our freshman year, when
those seniors stuffed you in a trash can? That was
sooo funny.”
10 years: “No.”
20 years: “I had to get therapy, you know.”
30 years: “Why do you always insist on bringing that up?”
40 years: “I’d put you in one now if you didn’t
weigh 300 pounds.”
“Will we see you at the next class reunion?”
10 years: “Definitely.”
20 years: “If I can get away. Work keeps me
pretty busy.”
30 years: “If I can get away. The kids keep me
pretty busy.”
40 years: “If I can get away. My cats keep me
pretty busy.”
So now, my friends, I’m going back to sleep. And
the next time I wake up, I hope it will only be, say, 10
years since my high school graduation. I’ll have 30
good years, and the benefit of the lessons learned in
my long, crazy dream to do things better this time.
