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Friday, February 4, 2011

Twelve Women, a Wife and a Husband...

My wife and I genuinely enjoy spending time together.

Aside from the time we spend with our kids, ever since we got married, we make an effort to go out alone on date nights.

So, obviously, when my wife told me that we were going to her all-girl high school Class of 1986 twenty-five year reunion, last weekend, I thought nothing of it (yes, she usually tells me what we’re doing on weekends. If left up to me, we would hang out all day on the couch watching TV).

Well, the plan for the reunion was that we would meet her classmates at the school for a cocktail reception, and then go to dinner at a restaurant in South Miami.

My wife attended a small Catholic school in Coconut Grove. When I say small, I mean her graduating class had only 26 girls. Just for some perspective, my graduating class, at a local public high school in Miami Springs, had a graduating class that surpassed 600 students. In fact, I was in the top tier of my senior class in GPA average despite graduating in the triple digits!

My wife's school is so small that they hold reunions for several classes at the same time. Last weekend, it was the reunion for the classes from the inception of the school in the 60's until 2006 in five-year intervals.  I think, all of them combined make up about a third of my senior class.

However, little did I know that I would be one of only three spouses to attend the reception (only two of which were male) and, to add insult to injury, the other husband bailed out before dinner.

I knew I was in trouble, as we walked into the school and a couple of my wife’s classmates, asked me, “Yanik made you come?” A waiter came around with a tray of champagne, and I snatched a glass and nearly drank it in one gulp.

Amidst hugs, the excitement of seeing some unexpected classmates that had shown up, from as far as Nicaragua, reminiscing of teachers and glory days, tours of the new music room, dance studio and art room and introductions (of me, because, for the first hour or so, I was the only odd ball not part of the graduating class), I started drinking.

The big stir was the school’s new hallway lockers, which were of cedar wood and look nicer than my kitchen cabinets.

Each time the gloved tuxedoed waiter came by with the tray of champagne, I grabbed one. It came to a point, where the guy would come to me first before offering his tray around the room. Ok, so champagne is not the most manly libation, but that’s what they were offering and it contains alcohol. What else was a guy to do? (Did I mention it was an all girl school?)

After about an hour of pleasantries, everyone went into the courtyard for hors d'oeuvres (and an open bar, baby!). A fleeting thought crossed my mind, what if I get ripped and throw up all over this courtyard? Maybe, on the 30-year-reunion, they would put on the invitation; no guests please!

So, after four champagne glasses and a scotch, I’m feeling pretty comfortable and, aside from chasing around the guys and gals with the food trays, was yapping to anyone and everyone that came near me.  It was as if I had been there through all those great memories in 1986.

I actually hit it off with the only other husband of one of my wife’s classmates. We were talking baseball, books and brain cancer (see my blog on Tug McGraw). Maybe, there’s a reason why he bailed out before dinner.

So, there I was at a table at Whisk in South Miami with twelve women, the wife of one of the classmates and me (I did mention it was an all-girl school!). It was actually a blast.

I can't wait till the thirtieth-year reunion.

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