No sense harping on the past, unless you’re tagged in it
Not too long ago I got the email notification that everyone dreads: “(Person you are ‘friends’ with but haven’t spoken to, seen, or even thought about in more than 10 years) tagged a photo of you on Facebook!” “What the … ” ( immediately logs on to Facebook, heart beating fast in chest ) “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” And there it was, in all its pre-digital camera resolution glory. Me, about a dozen or so years ago, standing next to a co-worker from my second job out of college, during what appeared to be some sort of super-lame, themed office function. Lord only knows what the theme was, but I was wearing an oversized Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and a sombrero (Mexico meets Hawaii meets Old Navy?). One could assume that such a wild, untamed outfit in an otherwise professional atmosphere would have led to some semblance of joy, but I looked very sad. Somewhere off in the distance was a plate of homemade spinach dip resting on a copy machine. Most importantly for the pu...