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The Year of the Buttercup Reunion

By Gloria Diaz

Check out Gloria's Blog — Edge of Gloria!

Fort Wayne Reader

2015-06-20


I had definite plans for my recent class reunion. Thanks to my new and improved facial profile courtesy of the excellent Dr. Steven Schimmele and staff, I planned to confront the jerks who teased me about my weak chin in high school. I went into the reunion loaded for bear (ha! Pun intended, fellow Bruins!) but itís hard to plan revenge when your detractors donít even bother to show up.

Jerks.

But the night wasnít without drama. The reunion organizer had set up a Facebook page for our class. For months leading up to the event, people would comment about how excited they were about coming back. One classmate posted how this would be her first reunion, because she wasnít allowed to attend the others. She explained she had been in a 27-year abusive marriage that sheíd gotten out of four years ago. That was on the page the night before the pre-reunion party. A few people wrote how happy they were for this person to be able to attend. However, one person responded and said the class Facebook page wasnít the place to talk about bad marriages, she should save the drama for her own Facebook page and friends to read, and that weíd all been through bad stuff and she should ďsuck it up, buttercup.Ē

You donít say that to someone who spent nearly 30 years in a horrible marriage. Itís what you say to your grumpy teenage daughter who isnít a morning person, but youíve woken her up so you can leave for Cedar Point by 6 a.m.

Within a short period of time, there were more than five dozen responses. I expected the page to literally spontaneously combust. People were, to put it mildly, appalled at the buttercup remark. One classmate made the observation that it was just like being back in high school. I didnít know the classmate who had had the bad marriage, but I felt sorry that she had shared her story, but got verbally bitch-slapped. I sent her a message, saying I was sorry about what she went through, and I hoped she had a good time at the reunion, and to cry all the tears of joy she needed to. She wrote me back, asking me to look for her at the reunion. We met, and it was great. She was having a really good time. Apologies were made, and a picture of her and the classmate who made the remark snuggling together turned up on the class Facebook page, and I think we all heaved a sigh of relief. I was fully expecting a fistfight, or at the very least, some intense hair pulling.

But the situation reminded me just how weird and random life can be. If ďsuck it up, buttercupĒ hadnít been said, I wouldnít have reached out to my classmate. I would have read her comments and probably posted that I hoped she had a good time, but I might not have reached out to her.

The rest of the night passed without incident. Well, unless you consider the visit to the martini bar where we talked about vibrators and what to do if when your daughterís friend accidentally gets into momís nightstand where she keeps her special battery-operated goodies. Yes, it was as funny as you think.

A final footnote: the name of my new friendís perfume? Buttercup. A picture of the bottle was posted as proof. You canít make this shit up.

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