Well, another quarter year has passed and I still haven’t heard from certain members of the class of ’88. Het-hem, ladies, you know who you are. And don’t even tell me you don’t have time to write, because if anyone doesn’t have time, it’s me. Between taking Meadow to junior tumblers and shuttling A.J. back and forth to fat camp, my life is like a full washer on the spin cycle. Okay? So let’s get to it, girls.

In August, I heard from Betsy LaFave for like the millionth time. She says she’s practicing law in Boston. Thanks for the update, Bets, but I have to admit that when I got your note I was completely going, um, tell me something I don’t already know. Betsy added that she’s engaged to be married. Okay already. We got it. Buy a clue. He’s been dangling you along for like five years.

Pia Grant Mersey wrote that she ran into Lynn Pumelco in Paris, and that they had a cup of coffee and caught up on old times. First off, I bought a vowel a long time ago, so I know Pia’s update about Lynn is just a way of tooting her own horn about being in Paris. And, two, you don’t have to spin the wheel to know that "coffee" is French for three bottles of wine. Some things never change, and those two always liked to have a few.

Margaret Miller is an eye surgeon at St. Joseph’s Medical Center in Raleigh-Durham, NC. She’s marrying Curt Stephens in the spring and–are you sitting down?–she’s keeping her name. Oh. My. God. I have two words for you, Margie: hypha nation.

Karen Xander Shren wrote from "hot, sticky Chicago" that she gave birth, at home and with no air conditioning, to an eight-pound baby girl. The labor took 36 hours. Raise your hand if you feel like hurling. When I say write, I don’t mean every disgusto detail like that. This isn’t short story writing with hunky Professor Hamilton. Get your head out of your birth canal, and don’t do at home what God made hospitals for. But congratulations anyway.

Later this fall, Robin Deutsch Friedman McCarthy Paulson Hooha is getting married for like the sixteenth time. I don’t even know what to say to you, girlie, except, you never could make up your mind about anything. Try out this age-old saying for a change: Look before for you fucking leap.

Eva Dawson Bolobanik (yeah, whatever on the name) wrote to say she finally got her degree in urban waste management. Okay, now I’m really going to hurl on myself. Why would a nice, pretty girl like Eva want to go into a job like that? Time to put a burning bag of dog business on her porch so she can buy a preview of her future as a professional shit-kicker.

True story: Leslie Clark, who’s been living in midtown Manhattan with approximately 34 cats, has written a novel about a woman living in midtown Manhattan with like 34 cats. She meets, falls in love with and marries a hunky vet to the stars living on Park Avenue. Dream on, Les, you smell like a cat box and you used to pick your split ends and meow to yourself in the library all through junior year.

Julia Galeano Baumgartner wrote to say that she made partner at Whatsits, Whatsits and Whocares law firm in Chicago, got a speaking role in a Ridley Scott movie (just for being in the right place at the right time), just found out she’s pregnant with twins, and got a great apartment in Lake Forest. Excuse me? Who rents an apartment in the suburbs? She needs a time-out.

Well, that’s all the news for now. Don’t forget about this year’s reunion. And FYI, ladies, you can’t get in the class notes if I don’t hear from Y.O.U. ASAP.

Valerie Runkle McHugh (Class of ’88)