I was seven. The only two things I loved: lollipops and worms. I stuck my hand in the loch to try and smooth out the water. I didn’t like the way it wrinkled up and down like that, so untidy.
I was nine. My new spectacles had arrived. I looked like William G. Stewart in his sex bomb phase. During break time I would remove the specs in case I got a football in the face.
Ten or thereabouts. All the cool kids drank milk, so I accepted the free daily carton so I could hang around and absorb their awesomeness, tipping the milk down the sink afterwards.
Twelve or near. Set the template I would follow for all PE lessons. Hanging around the sidelines, avoiding the football in case it hit me in the face. When it arrived, I’d kick it away. Rotten thing.
Thirteen. Knock over a bowl of ink in art class. Gingerly get up from desk, having gone unnoticed, retrieve six or seven tissues and mop up ink. Turn over desktop. No one notices.
Fifteen. First bum pinch from girl. The girl smoked cigarettes round the back and stank accordingly. It was a thrilling moment.
Sixteen. The entire age of sixteen. No explanation required.
I was nine. My new spectacles had arrived. I looked like William G. Stewart in his sex bomb phase. During break time I would remove the specs in case I got a football in the face.
Ten or thereabouts. All the cool kids drank milk, so I accepted the free daily carton so I could hang around and absorb their awesomeness, tipping the milk down the sink afterwards.
Twelve or near. Set the template I would follow for all PE lessons. Hanging around the sidelines, avoiding the football in case it hit me in the face. When it arrived, I’d kick it away. Rotten thing.
Thirteen. Knock over a bowl of ink in art class. Gingerly get up from desk, having gone unnoticed, retrieve six or seven tissues and mop up ink. Turn over desktop. No one notices.
Fifteen. First bum pinch from girl. The girl smoked cigarettes round the back and stank accordingly. It was a thrilling moment.
Sixteen. The entire age of sixteen. No explanation required.
Hmmm. Wasn't much different for girls -- except they're pinched mostly by boys who smoke.
ReplyDeleteYes. I actually remember that with fondness, so it shouldn't be on the list.
ReplyDeleteI have never been pinched, and if a boy pinched me, I would probably break his face.
ReplyDeleteQuite right. Bloody boys.
ReplyDeleteIt sounds like you were a nihilistic teenager already at seven. And it is terrible, isn't it, the peer pressure to drink milk at the age of ten?
ReplyDelete^^ It's terrible. Especially the yellowy UHT stuff we had. *shudders*
ReplyDelete