fear #7463: being fat at my 10-year HS reunion

After randomly checking out pictures of people I went to HS with (thank you, Facebook, for turning me into even more of a creepy stalker than I was before), I developed this small but persistent fear that I will be fat and/or horrendous-looking at Chantilly's 10-year HS reunion. Strangely enough, I'm not that concerned about being out-careered (being a journalism grad, I've basically already resigned myself to this fate) or out-married (am not above bribing a man to marry me prior to said event). Apparently I'm really that superficial.

But you know exactly what I mean about looking at current pictures of people that you went to high school with--and don't act like you don't judge them, too! You look at them and think "What happened?!": the popular athletes who gained 30 pounds and are cautionary tales for the dangers of fraternity douchedom. Or the Mean Girls who, 6 years out of high school, have turned into walking orange billboards for the dangers of tanning booths. Or the creepy emo guys who have somehow spawned offspring that look just like them (they swear the eyeliner scrawled around the eyes of their children is natural). Or all the ladies who seem to be jockeying for a stint on "America's Most Desperate Cougars Real World Cancun (Theme: I'm Pretty Sure I Don't Have an STD)."

Sometimes it feels like sweet, sweet redemption. ("Ah, so you wouldn't even talk to me in high school? WELL, NOW YOU ARE FAT.") Other times, you get all cold and prickly and think, "Oh no, is that what I look like to them?? Flabby and...old???" It's no use pretending you have even a semblance to the body you had in high school, where you ate delicious and healthful meals prepared by a domestic figure and ran several miles a week courtesy of gym class and/or sports. Today, I basically subsist on couscous, chicken in various forms, and whatever greasy carry-out haven that Tyler and I treat ourselves to on the weekends. And the exercise I get is mostly walking to/from the bus station and to/from my cubicle to the bathroom. It's not a lot.

I unleashed these fears onto Tyler, who is infinitely patient and seems completely unperturbed by the thought of looking like a monster in 4 years. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: What if I'm fat at my 10-year reunion?? BOO HOO WAIL GRIPE, etc.
Tyler: [after some thought] I know! I have the perfect solution: be pregnant.
Me: I'm sorry, what was that?
Tyler: Be pregnant. That way if anyone else like "Gross, that Vicky got FAT," you can turn around and be like "Excuse me...[points to belly] I'm pregnant." And then they can't say anything bad at all. Because you're pregnant!
Me: ...I'm not getting pregnant just so I will avoid being called fat. Besides, the timing of that would require way too much planning.
Tyler: Oh. Don't worry. It'll happen. Trust me.
Me: ...What????

I'm not sure if that idea is ingenius or downright disturbing. But still. Probably wouldn't hurt to waddle a few laps around the ol' office...