Housewives of Faulkner County

No Telling

Just received a notice that my 30th high school reunion will be in the fall. Octoberish. Plenty of advance notice to . . . what? Have extensive plastic surgery, lose forty pounds, have my teeth whitened, and find the perfect spray-tan, I guess. I say this because now through the Miracle of Facebook there are women I went to school with suddenly sporting all of the above modifications. And they’re wearing a lot of strappy tank tops, even in this chilly weather.

Not all of these women have lost their minds, but the numbers of those who have are shocking. I’ve noticed a correlation between the numbers of newly-divorced and party pictures showing tanned decolletage. It’s like Orange-County-meets-Cougar out there. These are women with grown children – did I miss a memo or something?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for looking your best and such, but I find it unnecessary to recreate my 18 year-old self this late in the game. Aside from appearing entirely too desperate, it’s fairly impossible to actually roll back the clock and make us the dewy teens we were. Even with quality cosmetic surgery we’ll still look better in low lighting.

The main reason I won’t be playing this round has to do with the degree of panic on all their Facebook faces. High school was an uncomfortable time for most young women – we set impossibly high standards of physical perfection even then (thank you Vogue and Seventeen). No need to pull that level of discomfort back out and wear it again just because it fits. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

As much as I hate Facebook, I may have to post something on there about how beautiful they all are, but not because of any recent alterations. The women I went to high school with thirty years ago have always been beautiful. All they need to do is exhale a little and find weather-appropriate clothing.

Photo: an untitled, unnumbered piece in William Eggleston’s Los Alamos