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Open Letter to the woman I ran into from high school:
I want a do-over.
Because what sick version of Murphy’s Law dictates that whenever I happen upon someone I haven’t seen in a decade or more, I’ll be wearing my ‘fat’ pants, absolutely no make-up, and my hair in a pony tail? Oh yeah, and I’ll be dragging a limp preschooler by the arm, his face smeared with chocolate. And I’ll be attractively yelling at yet another child, who is whipping a karate staff around like a baton.
And I wasn’t able to simply duck my head and avoid you at all costs like any rational person would do, because I was paying so little attention to my surroundings, you had to call my name three times before I even turned around.
Forget you saw me. Give me another chance. I promise that if you do, I’ll be dressed like an adult, coherent enough to mumble something other than ‘huh?’ when you approach me, and perhaps appear to be more than a shell of my former self. Perhaps.
I’ll even wipe my kid’s face.
That girl you thought was so cool in high school*
*that would be sarcasm