The year was 1982. We danced to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” album and watched “E.T.” on the silver screen. John Belushi died and Prince William was born. We exercised to Jane Fonda video tapes and never missed watching “Dynasty” on TV. Gas cost 91 cents a gallon and a stamp two dimes. We were spooked by the Tylenol scare and held our breath as the recession began.
It was a year of promise and pain, of sweetness and sorrow.
But it was OUR year.
We were the Class of 1982, and we were ready to take on the world.
Brad (Yearbook post)
Gina, To one of the nicest looking girls I know. Keep up the good looks and if you’re ever free, let me know.
Dick! That’s what Brad was. I guess I should feel honored that he referred to me as nice looking. Even if someone had offered me a hundred bucks to go out with him, I wouldn’t have. The guy was a jerk with a capital J.
He thought that his GQ-ish looks entitled him to whatever girl he wanted. And, of course, most girls oohed and aahed over his defined pecs and bulging biceps. And his tight ass. Not me. I wasn’t the least bit interested, which pissed him off, I think.
He was one of the guys who used Julie and when he got tired of her, discarded her like one of his sweaty workout towels.
I hope that he’s fat and out of shape. And ugly. Serves him right. He broke so many hearts and never once said sorry. Screw you, Brad. (That felt good.)
Other posts in this blog series
NOTE: Each Tuesday and Friday meet another member of the Class of 1982.