My mother made me an outcast
Like any youngster, I wanted to look like my peers, but my parents had the temerity to be poor, and insisted on saving money at the expense of my appearance.

I begged and pleaded for a Star Wars T-shirt, and finally my mother gave in. She bought me a second-hand t-shirt a size too small and with a giant iron mark all but obliterating the image on the front - a perfect outline as if someone had left a hot iron there for a couple of minutes. I was 7 - I wore it anyway.

Next it was Puma trainers. Everyone had them at school and I was wearing some rip offs from the market. Then one day my mother returned from a shopping trip with a spanking new pair of white Pumas. I wore them with pride to school on Monday morning ... when my schoolmates helpfully pointed out that the name written in gold on the side was Tracy Austin (or Virginia Wade, or something). They were girl's trainers. I was 12. I wore them anyway.

Then it was Farah trousers and golf jumpers. My mother picked up a pair of Farahs second-hand. They were shit-brown and two sizes too small. No problem - she sliced a 'V' of material from the back of them and inserted a bigger 'V' of black cord. Result - now I looked like a feckin' retard who'd shat himself! And yes, I wore them.

Now I wear cardigans. My favourite one has leather patches on the elbows and brass buttons, both added by me.

I have no friends and I am a virgin. THANKS, MUM!
(frankspencer, Thu 24 Aug 2006, 16:03, Reply)