Picking up some quickie potato salad and potato wedges from the local supermarket yesterday, it dawned on me that the frumpy old woman waiting on me was an old flame from college.

She’d turned into a hairsprayed hausfrau, replete with hairnet and food-stained work apron. I’m not sure if she would have remembered me if I’d introduced myself, she never was good at names or faces.

When she was 22 she married a skill deprived nancyboy who had no more talent than to manage an oil change place, a doofus looking kid two years younger than her wiht no discernable skills, talents, or personality to reccomend him. Oh, and in i bizzare twist of fate, and in the top ten list of things I wish I could unsee, I happen to know he has a remarkably small penis.

She was a lit major, had all intention of becoming a journalist, and had some actual talent in that direction. I cannot imagine why she dropped her career- and it wuld have been a good one- for this dork, only to end up slinging salads at a supermarket deli.

At any rate, I was only a little sweet on her, and my affections were never returned- or even noticed. This is why I edon’t go to high school reunions- who needs the aggrivation, and how will I be measured against my (so called) peers? (actually, I think of all my classmates I’m the only one who can be said to have a “career”.)