You were the quiet and popular new girl the every boy wanted to “date” and every girl wanted to be best friends with. You had just moved from you upper class private school and were upset about moving into the lower class public schools. Everyone always said, “Oh, poor Jill.” And, “Treat Jill nicely, her and her sister are having a hard time.” And everyone looked at me and made fun of the way I said, “soda” instead of “pop” and “bookbag” instead of “backpack” and called me “Jap” even though I was clearly American. I never forgave you for it and I didn’t even know you. And of course now I know it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault you had fair, perfect skin and light hair.
Posted in musings |
This one hurts. But it totally makes me want to dig out a yearbook and crib this series.
I like “bookbag.” I grew up saying pop but years of living in southern Illinois forced soda into my mouth and I have trouble saying pop regularly. Sometimes, feeling homeless about both terms, I’ll say “cola,” which is sure to bring a weird look. It’s nearly the same look one gets if uttering “the moving picture show” or even just “cinema,” as in, “I’m going to the cinema.”
I digress. It’s what I do.
-cK