My 30th high school reunion is coming up next month. I bought a ticket and followed the reunion Facebook page, after a lot of debate.

I keep in touch with about twenty high school friends. I see a handful regularly; others are Christmas card exchangers. Because of Facebook, I have gotten back in touch with a few more. But there are large numbers of high school classmates that I can’t remember at all. Sometimes these strangers ask to be Facebook friends. I always say yes, but feel really guilty, because I have no memories of them.

To avoid the discomfort of high school classmate amnesia, I wasn’t going to bother with the reunion. But the event is only a couple towns away and my friend, Pam, begged for me to join her. So, I sent in a check to a woman who had been my best friend in seventh grade and then defriended me in eighth grade when she moved up the social hierarchy.

Like any high school, there was a group of girls inaccurately described as the popular girls. They didn’t actually have friends beyond their small group, because they wouldn’t talk to anybody else. Maybe their popularity was based on their relationships with the football team. I wasn’t in many classes with them and I certainly can’t remember any of their names, but I do remember making a wide circle around them in the hallway and being intimidated by their capacity to fill out a bathing suit and their perfectly feathered hair. It’s New Jersey, so good hair was one of the key components of popularity.

Well, those girls started posting high school pictures of themselves on the Facebook page, and my disgust and fear is all coming back. 30 years later and those girls women are still all LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME. And I’m all like EW. I am increasingly uneasy about going to this reunion dinner.