A girl from high school contacted me through the internet, saying we should “catch up” over dinner. I decided to go, out of morbid curiosity.
Morbid because in high school this girl was the hottest and coolest and consequently never cared about me. We were in totally different high school castes. I was surprised she even remembered my name. Now she was contacting me, asking me to dinner? Something weird was going on.
So I showed up at the restaurant brimming with interest, and when my high school “friend” stepped out of a booth, I was more than a little surprised. She was no longer the vision of sultry hotness she had been eight years ago. She had aged, put on some weight, and just generally looked worse for wear. Time had not been good to my friend.
I, on the other hand, had benefited a little from the passage of years. My skin had cleared up, I had gotten a better hairstyle and the college experience had left me with a lot more confidence than I had had back when homegirl used to ignore me.
And even though she looked quite different, some things never change. She was still one big raging ball of ego. For instance, she didn’t let me talk. I pretty much ate quietly while she told me all about her last eight years. I nodded when I knew she expected me to and said “right” when I thought it polite, but mostly I was thinking about breadsticks. She never even asked what I had done in the last eight years. As far as she knows, I was in a coma.
At the end of the night she said, “This was fun! Let’s go out again this week!”
I replied, “So basically, being hot didn’t get you as far in the real world as it did in high school. And in the years since, you haven’t accomplished anything, have been in tons of bad relationships, wasted all your youth and beauty, and don’t have much going for yourself. And now you remember that I was a nice guy and you think we should date. As flattered as I am to be your absolute last choice, I’m gonna have to say no thanks.” And then I calmly threw my drink on her and stalked out of the restaurant.
Ok, I actually didn’t do or say any of that. I wish I did, but my mother raised me to be too polite. Instead, I just exchanged numbers and now I ignore her calls and texts. Not quite the same, I know.
Either way, it’s true what they say: “revenge is a dish best served cold.” And with breadsticks.