I had circled April 4th 2009 on my calendar in red. Not because I was looking forward to it but because I didn’t want it to sneak up on me.
It was my 10 year high school reunion, and I was dreading it.
If you asked anyone who knew me in high school, they would tell you that I wouldn’t be caught dead at a reunion. High school was 4 years that I wanted to forget.
But here I was 10 years later and my best friend was planning the reunion and begrudgingly I was going.
I had borrowed the perfect Little Black Dress for the occasion. It hugged in all the right places and gave me such a false sense of confidence.
I had my friends and my husband by my side, what could possibly go wrong.
It started out innocently enough. Over cocktails my friend Monica and I joked that we should each make up a profession to tell people when they inevitably ask what we did for a living.
Monica wanted to say she was a mortician and I decided that I would say I ghost write romance novels.
A dozen cocktails later, I came face to face with my husbands ex, the one who came before me. A homely looking girl who I had never been fond of, not that I knew her but I was quick to judge. And I had heard stories from my husband, from my MIL and from my husbands best friend. I had reason to judge.
There she was looking oh so Little House on the Prairie with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. A shaw in doors on a warm April night. And there I stood drunk and high on my LBD.
She didn’t know me or who I was married to. So when a mutual friend was talking to her I walked over and introduced myself. And then when our mutual friend inevitably asked what I did for a living, with confidence and conviction I said, “I ghost write romance novels”.
Monica stood next to me looking shocked as I continued to prattle on and on about how I wasn’t really supposed to talk about my ghost writing and saying, “that I write a lot of bodice rippers, you know trashy super market novels”.
And then the mutual friend asked for the names of the books and I was stumped. My drunk brain had never even considered that she would ask. And my drunk brain was not too quick on its feet.
I gulped my cocktail and muttered that the book was called Twilight’s Lover and went to the bar for another drink.
10 minutes later my husband pulled me from the dance floor.
“What’s this I hear about you ghost writing romance novels?” he said.
To which I replied, “who shows up in a shawl” and proceeded to giggle uncontrollably.
If you look closely you can see the shawl in the background.
Yeah I was a bitch but I blame the LBD.