Getting older ruins everything

When I was in tenth grade I had a major crush on my math teacher. And I mean major. I would flirt and kid and I EVEN DID MATH in order to get his attention. He was tall and blonde and broad shouldered and had a moustache that suprisingly wasn't creepy. He and his brother both taught at the school -- and it was pretty much a rule that every girl would have a crush on one of them. Really, I think the guidance counselor actually asked at the beginning of the year "John or Gabriel?" I was a John girl all the way.

I hadn't really thought about my high school crush in years -- until I saw Gabriel in the newspaper today -- and he looked awful. I thought it had to be a bad picture, so I went to the school's website to check it out. He still looked awful. And then, horrors of horrors, I saw John's picture. And he looked worse. I mean, so bad I thought there had to be a mistake. Maybe this stooped shouldered balding man had killed my high school crush and taken his place and no one had noticed. That had to be it. The moustache was gone, the cocky grin was gone and I couldn't tell from the picture -- but I bet he got shorter. I couldn't believe it. But then I realized it has been 17 years since I was in his class. He looks old -- because he is. So, if time has marched all over his face -- what's going to happen to mine?

I'm too depressed to go on. I'm going to go drown my sorrows in a bottle of Botox and my 1990 yearbook.