Botched Reunion

The batch reunion last Saturday was a wash-out for me because I came in around 6:30pm, just as they were winding things down. They already had the group picture taken, and some of them left after that. I guess their children—most of them brought along their wives and kids, ostensibly for their version of Show-Off-and-Tell—were getting cranky or sleepy already, and wanted to go home after their daddy posed alongside his aging friends.

Surprisingly, many of my batchmates kept fairly in shape. I guess we belong to the generation that has no excuse to not be in shape. Fitness gyms, badminton courts, and Belo’s clinics are everywhere, and we now have amassed enough wealth to afford all three and enough lying skills to blatantly deny the last one. I predict by our 25th reunion I’ll be seeing Botox-ed batchmates. That’ll be interesting.