It turns out that, like me, most of the survivors of the Class of 1995 look older and considerably more exhausted. Especially the moms and pregos look this way, but in fact, so do the attorney and the medical resident and the interior designer and the divorcee. Only the never pregnant, never married, and never grad-schooled seem unscathed.

Although I managed to not talk about wart removal and gas pains, I did say a few things I wished I’d hadn’t. I’ve decided to “bless and release” those things, which seems the healthy and well-adjusted thing to do. Besides, I only seemed to bother one depressed sort of person who obviously disliked me before I blabbed about leaking breasts and my pro-choice beliefs.

Apparently, I gravely offended this depressive girl when I asked to have two pads of Alumnae Association post-its. Clearly, she’s never carried free post-its into a room containing teachers before, or else she’d be familiar with shameless clamoring and frothing at the mouth that inevitably ensues.

She looked at me as if I had just crawled out of the primordial sludge, and said that sure, I could have an extra pad if I was willing to have someone else go without. I muttered something about getting over-excited about office products and turned sheepishly awy.

At the end of the night there were plenty of pads left over, so I took five just to spite her.