Our 50th Reunion is a Luncheon?

Spoiler: We’re not going

Photo of the author and the husband, circa 1971 (courtesy of the author)

So the husband and I, childhood sweethearts, just got an invitation to our 50th high school reunion.

The invitation arrived via Facebook, which means I’m the one who received it. The husband doesn’t do social media, he doesn’t even text, he gleefully uses a flip phone from 2010 that doesn’t work half the time and goes right into voicemail.

Which he still doesn’t know how to retrieve, over ten years later.

The husband doesn’t like technology, he’s all about art.

That’s his quote, not mine. Trust me, I know it makes zero sense.

Gary is still the hippie I fell in love with in 1971 and despite his Luddite ways, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Well, except maybe the part where I also have to be his GPS system whenever we go anywhere and then he yells at ME when he zones out, doesn’t listen, and we get lost.

But I digress.

So I read the invitation and the first thing I noticed was it’s being held at a hotel in suburban Philadelphia.

“Ew, Gary, they’re having our reunion at a freaking Hilton in Trevose, PA,” I told him.

We live in downtown Philadelphia because we’re cool, even though our adult kids in…