I have a high school reunion coming up in October. It will be 31 years ago that I graduated high school ( you do the math ). The only reunion I attended was my 10th. That has been the only reunion for my class. I had changed schools at the beginning of my SENIOR year of high school, moving from a small Connecticut town to an even smaller town in Massachusetts. I went from a class of a couple hundred students to a class of 86 students. The US Senate was larger than my graduating class. When I graduated, I had a handful of friends, a “hometown sweetheart”, some basketball teammates – all left behind when I left the state to go to college. Small town kids either do one of two things – stay close to home or get the-hell-outta Dodge. I didn’t see most of my classmates until the 10th reunion.
Then a wonderful thing occurred: I discovered Facebook. I have posted about the absurdities of Facebook, the banality of telling or wanting to know all the minutae of a person’s day. “…..is taking a shower now.” “…..loves the smell of hay after the rain.” “….is making my fifth trip to the bathroom, and it’s not even lunchtime!” ENOUGH! If you want to share a profound thought, a funny YouTube video, or offer to give me $5000 just for “friending” you, then I’ll accept that. I have used Facebook to track down those people who were once important to me. Some fall through the cracks, others down the rabbithole but you want to reconnect – exactly what I intended. I discovered that some members of my class had posted a page on Facebook with the intent of organizing a class reunion – 30 years +1. I am genuinely excited to see all my classmates, both old and new friends.
One day I began chatting with a classmate, a woman whom I remembered from homeroom, . Petite, black hair, kinda quiet. We didn’t hang out; she hung out with the band nerds and I hung with nobody-in-particular. We made small talk, the stupid things you say in chat rooms. Once we became comfortable with each other, we exchanged a few flirty messages. Nothing serious, just having fun. Over time, I snuck in a provative comment…something like, “your husband would kill me if he knew we were chatting”, to see what her status was without asking. I found out that there wasn’t a husband – she’s divorced, but she was seeing a guy. It had only been a few dates, but she was getting discouraged. I wanted to help but not be too invasive, so I asked her if she had a plan. Yes, she did. It involved a candlelight dinner, a pair of black open-toed pumps and…….
a little black dress.
She said that with that outfit, he’ll never know what hit him.
Wow! He doesn’t stand a chance. Lucky guy.
I know that he went away after a couple of dates. Stupid guy.
What is it about this simple, stylish and VERY sexy dress that makes me turn to goo? Why does it make most men turn to goo? When a woman wears this elegant dress, she can call the shots. She can slide up to the man on her radar and subtly seduce him without touching his body. Why? Because, on the right woman, with the dress cut to flatter her curves, this is the ultimate weapon in the Battle of the Sexes.
It is amazing that this dress – this monochromatic, provocative cut of fabric, gathered in strategic places with a plunging neckline, mantrap of a dress – is the go-to outfit when a woman wants to seal the deal with her man. What power! Men don’t have a sure thing like that. No tie or blazer can motivate women like that. A pair of shoes has yet to be cobbled that turn women into jelly. Even an Armani suit can’t move her libido into overdrive like this dress can. I can guarantee that if an attractive woman wearing this dress were to approach me, the only words to tumble out of my mouth would be,
“Yes, Anytime, Anywhere. Name it and I’ll be there.”
I would lose all sense of decorum, reduced to a panting, drooling idiot. No, not really, but seeing that woman would have my heart doing a samba. It would be difficult to remain calm if the wearer of this dress asked if I would buy her a drink. It would be even more difficult not to avoid looking deep into her eyes. That’s when the spell really begins to work its magic.
I hope to see that women from my high school class. I hope she’ll be wearing that dress – and I hope she’ll walk up to me, grab me by the lapels and plant a kiss on me. “What do you think about THAT?”