By Christie Wilson
Advertiser Staff Writer

When it comes to diets, I've tried them all.

I've taken the train to Scarsdale, Cambridge and Wai'anae, jumped aboard the Weight Watchers and Nutrisystem bandwagons, and caught the Subway with Jared.

I've eaten more and weighed more (maybe I was a little unclear on the concept), and survived for days on cabbage soup.

I'm on a first-name basis with Jenny.

But now I've discovered a revolutionary weight-loss program that I am calling "The Reunion Diet." The best thing about it is that you only have to do it once every five or 10 years, depending on how often your high school class gets together.

I planned to start The Reunion Diet last summer, to give myself 12 months to gradually slim down for my 30-year Kalani High School class reunion. Nine months later and only a few pounds lighter, I was contemplating skipping the affair when a member of my gang from Niu Valley Intermediate days, Heather Wilhelm, called to invite me to be one of the emcees for the reunion gala.

Of course, the first thought that shot through my head, was: "Omigod, I have to lose weight."

(Somebody explain this to me: Why is it more important to look great for a bunch of near-strangers who I may never see again, than to my dearest friends and family who deserve a healthier, happier me?)

Because offering me a microphone is like waving candy in front of a baby — mmm, candy — I accepted the invitation, and now the fear factor is in play.

Every time I reach for a double-stuffed Oreo, I picture a table of classmates sizing me up from behind.

Things can get pretty vicious in these situations: "Did he really think no one would notice he used hair-in-a-can to cover that bald spot?"

Or, "Somebody should have told that woman jumpsuits went out in the '80s along with Duran Duran."

Or, "Funny, she looks skinnier in the newspaper."

Hey, real life adds 20 pounds.

I was able to "pass" at my 20th reunion because I was seven months' pregnant. That's not an option this time, at least not without medical intervention.

(Funny story: Moments after I walked in the door at the Iwilei ballroom back in 1993, a classmate came up and asked me when the baby was due. "November," I said. "First?" he queried, wanting to know if it was my first child. "No, the 15th," I replied, thinking he was asking me the actual due date. I wish I'd had a camera because the look on his face was a genuine Kodak moment.)

I still haven't made as much progress on The Reunion Diet as I'd hoped (damn you, Dunkin' Donuts!), but I'm not going to let that spoil my big night out next month.

I figure the members of the Kalani High Class of '73 will display the same kind of compassion, acceptance and tolerance we exhibited as teenagers.

Oh, brother. Pass the Snickers, please.