Even though “Lose 10 pounds” hasn’t been crossed off my to-do list, I’m nonetheless flying to my 40th high school reunion this weekend. About 75 classmates I graduated with in 1984 will be there, to include my BFF, the mean girl on my bus, my mauve-tuxed prom date and a myriad of others from my insecure teen years.

If that weren’t enough to handle, the reunion committee, on short notice, asked me to give a speech at the event since I was Class Clown. “Just a recap,” they said, “something to get them laughing.”

As I packed my luggage with garments carefully selected to hide my expanding menopausal waistline, I wracked my brain for high school memories. So much had changed in the intervening decades: Our hometown, attitudes, the country, technology, society, the world.

Today’s teenager is awakened by his iPhone 15 Pro Max alarm, and immediately checks his texts and notifications. His well-developed thumbs tap out any necessary replies, likes and comments replete with trending language and emojis, before playing his favorite playlist on Spotify.

“Call Bae,” he instructs Siri before brushing his unblemished teeth with Crest 3D Whitening toothpaste. His girlfriend says she’s not picking him up because her lips are swollen from filler injections (a birthday gift from mom), so she’s skipping school.

Dressed in a White Claw t-shirt, Lululemon track pants, and Air Pods, he takes a quick selfie, then downs a free-range chicken breakfast burrito and a can of Starbucks Vanilla Sweet Cream Cold Brew before calling an Uber. He’s late for his Eco-Feminism class, but he usually spends that hour on SnapChat anyway.

At lunchtime, he orders a quinoa bowl and a Red Bull from Doordash, which he enjoys while watching “Stranger Things” on his iPad in the cafeteria.

That afternoon, while copying a Chat-GPT-generated essay on “The Cultural Benefits of Doom Scrolling,” he hears the principal announce, “Due to an outbreak of the COVID-19 variant KP311, the graduating class ceremony rehearsal will be held via Zoom.”

Packing Spanx into my suitcase, I realized that my own high school experience was nothing like a modern teen’s scenario. Drifting back to 1984, an 8mm film clicked on, and I saw myself, 40 years ago.

After being awakened by Culture Club’s “Karma Chameleon” on my clock radio, I dragged myself off to the bathroom shared by my entire family, before selecting one of seven outfits that I rotated each week. When my curling iron was hot, I coiffed for maximum height, rolled Tickle deodorant under my arms, then applied purple frosted eyeshadow and Bonnie Bell root beer lip gloss.

As I shuffled toward my bus stop a half mile down the road, ignorantly wearing a Pep Club button declaring “Injuns have more fun,” I realized that the bowl of Cap’n Crunch that I’d hastily eaten for breakfast had shredded my gums. Carrying my German, chemistry, algebra II and “The Iliad” books, I stepped onto the bus sweating profusely. My bus driver had one 8-track tape, which he played on a loop my entire senior year — AC/DC’s “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap.”

After 1st period, my BFF handed me a folded hand-written note before scooting off to class. During chemistry, I placed the unfolded note in my textbook and read important updates on who liked whom, what happened in study hall, Friday night plans and other important matters.

Over a scoop of spaghetti with a side of Jell-O Jewels in the cafeteria, my friends and I strategized, mostly about getting boyfriends and being invited to parties. Without dates or fake IDs, our prospects seemed slim. But on Friday night, we’d take my parents’ Chevy Blazer and cruise past the video arcade, hang out at the mall or sneak into the Palace Garden’s drive-in theater and eventually find some fun.

For better or for worse, we were left to figure things out on our own, through passed notes, lunchroom gossip, rotary-dialed telephone calls and Friday night visits to teenage haunts.

Our uncomplicated teenage lives might seem strange today. But social media, political correctness, advanced technologies and instant gratification would have seemed even stranger to us back in 1984. Stranger things, indeed.

Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com