D-Day Minus Four. Or Is It Plus Four?

Thirty years ago I went to my 20th high school reunion and hooked up with an old friend. To make a long story short, after three years of intermittent cross country "dating" we had a scandalous falling out. So scandalous, the last time we spoke was seventeen years ago, when he contacted me, apologized, and we went our separate ways. 
          Not that we were the only ones in my class to be caught behaving badly. Five years later, at the 25th, another couple of classmates, two people you wouldn't expect to hook up in a million years, managed to find common ground in a common bed, resulting in a child. But even though they never married, they stayed together for over twenty-three years. And only recently broke up. 
          I know because I follow those two on facebook. Separately. But only one of them is coming to the reunion. Rats. Several years ago, Judy Markey, a Sun-Times newspaper columnist, wrote about our class's propensity for outre behavior. Especially among the previously straight arrow types. She pretty much hung out our stained laundry to dry in public. In a class of 939 people, that may be our only claim to fame. 
          Recently, after not hearing from my former friend for all those years, he called to say that he and his partner of ten years would be coming to the reunion. He looked me up on our reunion website, discovered I had a blog, read a few entries, and thought he should let me know he was coming. He'd read an entry where I had taken another classmate to task for looking me up on the website, taking me to lunch, and failing to tell me he was maritally impaired. So I think it was smart to contact me. Like when a defense lawyer brings up his client's bad behavior, so the prosecution can't use it against him. Something like that.
          Meanwhile, I was curious about his girlfriend. Finding someone simpatico at sixty, when your sexy is probably not coming back anytime soon, is like finding a hundred dollar bill on the ground. Doesn't happen. After reaching the age when gray hair and hip replacements start breathing down your neck, I think it's best to track down the old flames, people you knew when you were young and fresh baked. They're usually wearing the rose colored glasses of early memories of you. They can get past the changes that have taken place since your stomach was flat, your hair had color, and your private parts, male or female, pointed to the sky. 
         With that in mind, it makes perfect sense that his late-in-life true love is someone he knew in high school -- his first wife, in fact. He's had three. They ran into each other at social gatherings a couple of times following 9-11, and their high school and college spark was rekindled. It also helps that neither one of them looks any the worse for wear.
          So why did he contact ME now? I sure hope not to give me the good news about his happy life. Although he did. Nope, he was wondering if I would be interested in getting a little group together to spoof our high school classmates with a skit or some songs at the reunion. Of course, I said no, I wasn't interested. I'm sure I said no. At least I think I said no. I must have said no, since I wasn't even planning to attend the festivities.
         And yet, here I am putting the final touches on some parody lyrics for our school fight song -- with lots of references to oldness and grayness. And I'm planning to revert to my high school self, behavior-wise, for fifteen minutes of fame on Saturday night. Joined by five or six other people I haven't seen in 50 years, who performed with me in our school's shows, and said they were game.
          There isn't enough alcohol to make this a good idea. Oh, crap, I don't drink.