Admissions of the Past

So yes.

Fine.

I confess.

There are hot pink swishy pants in my past.  There are turquoise swishy pants too.  The two pairs covered the bulk of my wardrobe for my lower extremities.  And yes.  I got made fun of.  For my swishy pants.  With good reason.  (Although these days only by Best Friend R, who at the time had her own pair.)  There were also the thousands of horse T-shirts.

Oh.

I just remembered…

[sigh]

The vests.  There are also vests in my past.  All sorts of vests passed down to me by my cousins.  And probably worn WITH the swishy pants.  [sigh]

Ever heard the phrase “The Ugly Years”?  Yes, well…

Add on to that picture a complete and utter fascination with pens.  Like, the writing utensil.  All kinds of them.  Gel pens.  Roller pens.  A pig pen.  Glow-in-the-dark pens.  Bic pens.  Pens in every color.  At least 50 of them in a school supplies box.  Traded on recess under the spotlight of an audience, the uniqueness increasing the value of each pen.  The pig pen, I recall, was of great value (perhaps the greatest ever), and I only relinquished my ownership of it at a very high price.

If the picture isn’t clear yet add on a spiral perm.  And braces.

Ah yes, those were formative years.

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~ by Eva on January 26, 2009.

4 Responses to “Admissions of the Past”

  1. My best friend at the time was equally obsessed with pens. There is a certain feel and flow to a “valuable” pen that creates a certain oneness with the hand and notepad. People who like pens probably know what I’m talking about.

  2. There’s a young age in life when girls chase boys. Literally, they run after them. What do the boys do? They vamoose. They flee in terror from the ensuing girl covered with cooties. It’s all the more alarming when pursuing girl has short, blunt pen(s) in hand(s). And the blood-curdling sound of turquoise swishy pants rapidly approaching from behind makes even bullies quiver.

    • Well, I never was much of a boy chaser (unless my brother counts. Oh… or the neighbor boys, but they were good friends), but I can imagine their terror. I’D be terrified of That-Age-Me chasing me. Yikes.

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