This past weekend, my husband, Vivi, and I found ourselves traipsing through Harvard Yard to attend my husband's thirtieth (yes, that's 3-0) college reunion. We had no intention of going but my husband has a very persuasive college friend who made the trip out from Texas so we reluctantly agreed to show our faces for an hour or so.

As reunions go, this was probably your run-of-the-mill type event with the exception that everything at Harvard seems to cost more and be more self-congratulatory. When we arrived at the designated location, the woman at the door told my husband that he needed to pay $125 to enter. He explained that we weren't there for the brunch but just to see a few classmates for a few minutes. She let us in but only on the condition that we don't touch the food or she'll "have to wrestle it out of our hands." Not twenty minutes later, my husband was chastised by a former classmate for not registering in advance. That's some school spirit right there.

The "brunch" was followed by a lengthy PowerPoint presentation of a class survey where respondents noted how much money they were making, how Harvard was a chief factor in their self-identification, and how much smarter they were than their work colleagues who did not attend Harvard. Since my husband did not register and fill out a survey, I suppose that he "fails" in all three of these categories.

We did take away a few things from this reunion, however. My husband confirmed his ambivalence about his Harvard education. I discovered that the fountain of youth is embodied by my husband who was, by far, the most vibrant and best-looking of all of his classmates. (Although some were trying very hard with their obvious Botox injections.) Vivi learned that the only way to have fun at the Harvard Faculty Club is to climb three flights of stairs and then take the elevator back down... over and over again.


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