We Did Not Go To High School ‘Together’.
‘Well,’ I say, gazing blankly at the Strange Man, ‘you must have a very good memory, because I have no idea who you are.’
Honestly though. If you saw a man you DID NOT EVEN KNOW sixteen years previously, introduced yourself without provocation by bellowing said man’s surname and were given, in return, the above statement, you’d probably feel a bit silly and cut the conversation short.
Wouldn’t you?
He sits down, slams his pint glass on my table and starts talking. For forty minutes. I have genuinely no recollection of him. He talks about a number of people that I also DID NOT KNOW sixteen years ago. His eyes are wide with the wonder of our reunion. He can scarcely believe it.
Nor can I.
This has occurred with unpleasant regularity during the past two years since I returned to the area where I grew up after an absence of 14 years.
I have had quite enough of it.
I know how pregnant women feel when complete strangers find it perfectly acceptable to strike up a conversation based solely on the fact that they are, well, pregnant. O.K, it’s a bit of a stretch comparing that to attending the same high school. And admittedly no-one asks me ‘how far along’ I am (meaning ‘how long ago did your husband/boyfriend put his spunky cock in your vagina?’) but………no, forget this one. It’s just tiresome, is all I’m saying.
Please go away Imaginary High School Friends. We spent some time in the same building half our lives ago. That is all. There is no ‘connection’ between us that dictates that your attentions are welcome.
If I did not go to the trouble of getting to know you when I was sixteen – when I had some spare time on my hands – do you really feel I’m going to make the effort now?
Honestly though. If you saw a man you DID NOT EVEN KNOW sixteen years previously, introduced yourself without provocation by bellowing said man’s surname and were given, in return, the above statement, you’d probably feel a bit silly and cut the conversation short.
Wouldn’t you?
He sits down, slams his pint glass on my table and starts talking. For forty minutes. I have genuinely no recollection of him. He talks about a number of people that I also DID NOT KNOW sixteen years ago. His eyes are wide with the wonder of our reunion. He can scarcely believe it.
Nor can I.
This has occurred with unpleasant regularity during the past two years since I returned to the area where I grew up after an absence of 14 years.
I have had quite enough of it.
I know how pregnant women feel when complete strangers find it perfectly acceptable to strike up a conversation based solely on the fact that they are, well, pregnant. O.K, it’s a bit of a stretch comparing that to attending the same high school. And admittedly no-one asks me ‘how far along’ I am (meaning ‘how long ago did your husband/boyfriend put his spunky cock in your vagina?’) but………no, forget this one. It’s just tiresome, is all I’m saying.
Please go away Imaginary High School Friends. We spent some time in the same building half our lives ago. That is all. There is no ‘connection’ between us that dictates that your attentions are welcome.
If I did not go to the trouble of getting to know you when I was sixteen – when I had some spare time on my hands – do you really feel I’m going to make the effort now?
posted by Tired Dad at
3:40 am
7 Comments:
Has any of the Imaginary High School Friends come up to you misty-eyed about a shagging-in-the-back-your-car memory? I find those are the worst.
TD that's the price you must pay for returning to your roots.
It's also the reason I've never gone back.
Amanda: 'We' were on a maternity ward with some sort of Kate Bush wannabe who spent hours during the early stages of labour applying very elabourite make-up (with a proper make-up head-sized mirror and everything) so she could 'look good for the baby'.
I do not wish to ever see her again.
Lee: That I would welcome, to be honest. Although it's probably different for boys.
D: I know. I vowed I never would. Still debating the wisdom.
I met someone who claimed to know me once. He bought me 6 pints (I was skint). Don't know who he was.
Dinners: For 6 pints I too would have played-along.
Hi, came in off petite's blog.
I like your stuff :)
BG
Hi yourself.
Many thanks.
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