I got a message from my h.s. friend last night:

“What was the name of that guy who used to hang around you? The tall one with all the hair?”

That made me smile.

I told him, “That’s a story for the ages.” And I left it at that.

It occurred to me later how I have such a small box of high school keepsakes. But a case from college and a whole storage unit’s worth from my career. (Before we went digital.)

I think that’s pretty proportionate enough to represent the weight each era should have on your life.

But so funny to be taken back in time like that.

As it turns out, he and I have friends in common. The recently rediscovered friend and I, not the tall guy with the hair.

Well it’s more like I’m close with the male half of a couple, and he knows the guy’s new girlfriend.

I admit I was curious to know what he knows about this chick. Social media may not be painting as favorable a picture as she deserves.

He was neutral-to-kind in his reply. I of course am a master (mistress?) at reading between lines. And I find myself wishing I didn’t ask at all, since I want so much to like her. 

Reminds me of how my friend (the half of a couple) felt about my then-relationship with the tall guy with the hair.

Pinhead, he called him.

A most-accurate description, I must say. I ain’t (and was never) mad at that.

He never told me what to do with Pinhead. He simply made it clear I could do better. When and if I was ready to do just that.

I guess we all have to make our own decisions.

And to live with them.

At any and every age.

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