"BLUE JEAN DREAMS"
By: ... Hope
The expression, 'your mother dresses you funny', was invented around the time I was in eighth grade. I believe it took off and became quite a common phrase soon after, but I can assure you that it was made up by my school-mates. In my opinion, a thirteen year-old girl should not be subjected to the old-fashioned ideas her mother has about clothes.
While my peers were wearing faded blue jeans and T-shirts, I
had the
good fortune of owning nothing but 'stretchies'.
I should clarify the
term, in case you are unfamilliar with it.
'Stretchies', are pull-on pants made out of a material that gives in
all directions. Generally, this material consists of a plaid, or
striped print.
Mom loved me so much, that she usually managed to find me an entire outfit made out of this lovely material. I was the only thirteen year-old who dressed like her Grandmother. Forgive me if I sound ungrateful, but even the 'nerds' wouldn't be caught dead talking to me. Everyone had certain standards they lived by and I fell short of theirs.
I did have one friend for awhile, a girl who carried a bible to
school
and wore curlers to class. She was really boring, but better
than
nothing. Her parents believed the world was coming to an end
and she was very vocal (for a mouse) about the consequences
of 'not believing'.
Like I said, better than nothing.
Believe it or not, my mother did love me, though I didn't know it at the time. I must say, my ugly clothes did not come cheap either. Those Old-Lady-Stores charged an arm and a leg for their merchandise. Try telling that to a dozen kids in a schoolyard, laughing so hard, they'd never have heard me, even if I was fool enough to point that out.
To make things even worse, I had a little sister who followed me everywhere. The two of us grew up, the proud owners of 'matching' stretchie outfits. Wearing the exact same clothes as a kid sister, one who, 'you can walk to school with', was just another burden I had to bear. Bad enough, I had to live with wearing stretchies, the last blow to my pride was having a miniature clone following me everywhere I went. I had my way of getting even with my sister though. I took special care of all my ugly clothes, so that when I finally outgrew them, she got mine.
I begged and pleaded for just one pair of jeans, but no child of theirs was going to wear 'Dungarees' like a hippie.
At the beginning of the school year, a couple of girls were forced to talk to me. The teacher split us into groups of three for a project. I was in Heaven. Sara and Ann were by no means the most popular girls in our class. They were were cool enough that being associated with the class Geek, was not their idea of a good time. I had absolutely no qualms though. Force, or otherwise, these girls Had to talk to me now.
Ann lived about a block from our house and one day, as I passed by, she allowed me to walk to school with her. This became a routine with us, I saw to it that I was outside her house every morning. I soon learned to make myself scarce, once we got to school though. The Ann I walked to school with, transformed into a totally different person, once she met up with her 'real' friends.
One particular day stands out in my memory, even now, twenty years later.
We had a travelling salesman come to the house one evening after dinner. He was selling clothes and talked my mother into getting my sister and I three new outfits. These new clothes didn't seem quite as bad as the old ones, though of course I had absolutely no sense of style by now.
I couldn't fall asleep that night, a plan had begun to formulate in my mind. I had taken steps to turn the ugly duckling into Cinderella. With my new clothes, a couple bobby pins in my bangs (copied from a popular girl at school with a widow's peak), I just couldn't lose.
I dressed carefully the next morning, wishing I wasn't so scrawny, that my hair wasn't so short and that I owned a bra, or at least needed one. I wished I had blue eyeshadow, the ultimate in status symbols.
I walked to Ann's place and found that she seemed especially nice this morning. She asked about the new clothes and I told her we had bought them from a man who sold them door-to-door. I even went so far as to point out that this was my first pair of pants with an honest-to-goodness Zipper.
Ann was so nice, in fact, that I decided that maybe for the first time, I'd hang around once we got to school. Let the kids see me now.
Well, they saw me and they laughed...again. Ann laughed too, she seemed to find my discomfort rather enjoyable.
Someone like me, who had no fashion-sense, could not possibly have known just how ridiculous that outfit looked. My pants were grey and until that moment, I had loved them. So much for the zipper. They also sported a thin white cording that ran down each outer leg. I had thought this was unique and kind of funky.
As I walked away, their voices followed, 'Nark', 'Cop', ringing in my ears. One is given a specified amount of pride at birth, it either grows and flourishes, or is beaten into the ground, as mine now was. My peers had partaken in a feast, with my self-esteem as the main course. I bent my head in defeat, put in my place once again. One small victory, no one saw me cry.
I tried to cloak myself in the veil of invisibility I always wore at school, but no one would leave me to my self-pity. Snickers and snorts followed me throughout the day and I sighed with relief when the bell finally rang.
Ann caught up with me and apologised. I, of course, accepted, who was I to turn down an offer of friendship? She invited me to her house for the first time, where we watched television and talked about boys. Her older brother came home and walked over to change the channel.
"What are you looking at?" He was talking to Ann. She seemed to be assessing the lower half of his body rather inappropriately, being that she was his sister, after all.
She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully and asked, "Bradley, can she have an old pair of your jeans?"
"What the Hell for?"
I sat quietly, a mere spectator, while Ann explained my situation to her brother. He must have felt sorry for me (which was fine with me), because he agreed to give me a pair of his Levis. Being that this all took place twenty years ago, there was no such thing as designer jeans, everyone wore Levis.
Before I knew it, I was in Ann's room, trying on a pair of jeans. No elastic in the waist of these babies, like the Nerds at school had to wear. They were 100%, authentic Jeans and they were mine.
The next few weeks flew by, the happiest of my life. I created a system, where I left the jeans in my locker, got to school early and changed before anyone was the wiser. I even managed to buy a baby-blue eyeshadow, which I applied in the school bathroom.
Someone once said, 'The clothes make the man.', in my case, they made the girl. I didn't become Miss Grade Eight, or anything remotely close to it, but I did fit in.
Of course, all good things that happen to me must eventually come to an end. So, it was with my jeans. My parents found out. I was forced to bring them home, where they were washed and returned to Ann. I thought about reclaiming them the next day, but Mom had already spoken to Ann's mother.
A good ending to this story would be where I learned that people who are true friends, accept you as you are. That was not the case, in my case.
I pouted. I stamped my feet in outrage. I went for days without conversing with anyone at home. Here was something I was really good at. Think I damn near drove them all crazy, but I was standing up to them and for my dreams. Blue jeans were a necessity to my very existance and I would fight to the death for them.
I won.
Mom gave in, for some reason. (Could it possibly have been my Human Relation skills?). Whatever, my dreams were realized and that's all that mattered at the time.
I stole Ann's boyfriend at the Grade Eight Prom. I felt she required a lesson. One should never call a person 'friend' and then laugh at her. I did find her another date for the prom, (though mine was much cuter), so she forgave me. She began to consult me, concerning fashion. Sometimes I gave her a break and helped her out, but one should really have their own unique sense of style, don't you agree?
by: ^Hope^
Page created by: Jilli
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