The #1 Reason My Australian Readers Rule.

Who else would send Waist High an article with tips on HOW TO SURVIVE YOUR HIGH SCHOOL REUNION WITHOUT "CRAPPING YOURSELF"?

Because as you may know, there is "no greater torture," nor "greater brain-atomising festival of terror than the school reunion." Thank you Australia:


If you were a science nerd, an arty weirdo, a school musical chorus member or any other playground category other than "cool," be proud. What may have been perceived as weird, unorthodox, or ludicrous in year 10 may now be appreciated, even adored and rewarded with large amounts of money.

Quirky film director Tim Burton hated high school and immersed himself in horror films. The result? Edward Scissorhands, reputedly influenced by Burton's adolescent ordeals. And look at Bill Gates. There can be no richer, more high-profile dag than Gates and his dweeby shirts, unfashionable hair and monotonous benevolence.


Cosmetic surgeons report an influx of people requesting Botox treatments for their school reunions, but there's no need for such extremes. Certainly, there are few more terrifying prospects than parading your physical appearance to a large assembly of schoolmates years after leaving high school but don't worry, everyone is freaking out.

Thinning hair, spreading midriffs, expanding man-boobs: relish it. It's only going to get worse.

If you were teased for being a tubster at school but now resemble a carved Adonis, take a long time attempting to recall the faces and names of school bullies desperate to re-introduce themselves. "I'm so sorry," you say, "I thought you were one of the function centre's waiting staff."

What if you're still a tubster? Read seven self-confidence books, get lots of sleep and a massage and realise the bullies will never know true wisdom, inner-peace or karmic kinship in their feeble, self-obsessed minds. If that fails, spill a drink in their lap and mop it up with a Tiffany bracelet and a $1000 bill (replicas acceptable).


In the words of Romy from Romy and Michele's High School Reunion: "Do you think it's impressive that we're still single, and we've been living together for 10 years, and I'm a cashier and you're unemployed? What's the point of going if we're not going to impress people?"

Indeed, what is the point? Impressing people at the school reunion is probably the only reason many of us attend the wretched thing. There are some bright sparks who can't wait to catch up with every single high school chum with whom they so enjoyed learning and sharing their halcyon youth. But for the rest of us, it's one hellishly public audit of our life's achievements to date.

If you're not happy confessing your occupation, tell fibs. Garnish the truth. Dress up reality in a nice sparkly cape and velvet slippers and lie.

Or use the excuse of C.J., from TV's The West Wing for leaving her 20-year class reunion: she works for the President of the United States and she's "needed in Washington DC immediately."


There are people who aren't horrified to the very pit of their stomach at the thought of attending their reunion. We salute you while also shaking our heads in unselfish commiseration. Whoever you are, you're probably still annoying people by looking on the bright side every single minute of the day.


However if, like me, your daily high school life was stained by a small but poisonous group of cool, mean girls with tanned legs, blonde hair and pink fingernails, you may now be champing at the bit for a rematch. You have grown, travelled, studied, got a job or simply understood there is more to life than who kissed who behind the toilets.

The best revenge is not caring about petty irritants with fake tans. Smile and move on. Then sign them up for five months' free advertising correspondence from the political party of your choice.


Did you have a crush on the spunky head prefect? Did you want to kiss that quiet maths swot with the brunette curls and the enormous feet? Or did you burn in private fury after incessant teasing from the netball captain and her limpet coterie? Here's your chance.

The spunky prefect may have soured in the looks department, leaving you free to spread your charms elsewhere - or may still be a Botticelli cherub. So may you and you don't realise it. Attempt a chat. With the paralysing force of crazed teenage hormones now drained from your body, this may reveal they are a) quite boring to talk to; b) cohabitating with that evil skank, Joanna, from biology class and therefore a waste of oxygen; or c) also interested in the hibernation habits of hill-dwelling aphids.


Minutes after my 10-year reunion my best friend from school and I sat in her car hyperventilating and in shock. We vowed to never again attend a school reunion, at least not one organised by the cool girls. Better to stay away, meet up with the schoolmates you like and enjoy analysing why you never kissed the quiet maths swot with the brunette curls and the enormous feet.

Original material: Lenny Ann Low via the Radar Blog via The Sydney Morning Herald