I have been saying for years that by the time I was born, my parents were sort of over this whole “ooh we had a kid!” thing. If we look at how many pictures were taken of my sister from birth to 23 months (the point at which I was born) we’d be here all night. Photo after photo of the cute little tow-headed girl.
And the number of photos of me from birth until 23 months? Well there’s a few, sure. I’ll not deny that my mother did her duty with the camera, snapping away on occasion. But there came a time, shortly after this 23 month period, when the interest clearly waned, petering out to virtually none.
Am I sure? Folks, I’m a scientist*, so I’m not going to make some sort of shoddy, unsupported claim. I’ve done the research, I’ve collected the evidence, and I now give you my results.
Some time, around the period of my third birthday, my mother stopped buying me new clothes. As we were not, in fact, impoverished, and as there is no evidence of all the clothing stores in the nearby area being razed to the ground simultaneously, one can only conclude that my mother no longer gave a fig. As a result, I was left with just one shirt. The Shirt. Am I sure this was only directed at me? Well let’s have a look at the facts as they pertain to The Shirt v. My Sister’s Varied and Resplendent Wardrobe:
A glorious first showing for The Shirt.
1. The Curler Portrait. My mother attempted to squash the issue of my boyish appearance by attacking it directly with curlers. This sort of special day calls for a stripey shirt! Note that my sister is wearing a figure-flattering dark colour, that while tucked in is still showing no evidence of gut roll. I, on the other hand, do appear to be suffering from a bit of the Pudge, but this may be attributable to not having had a new pair of dungarees purchased for me since I was 14 months old.
Ah, the stripey suffering is shared.
2. Now I know what you are thinking: Hey, isn’t the pain of having just one shirt mitigated slightly by the fact that your sister was also forced into stripes? My answer to you is No. First, it’s not her only shirt, and second, she has sleeves. Look at the wind in this picture, there are no leaves on the tree, it’s clearly cold and yet there I sit with nothing between my little sausage arms and the wind chill except a layer of fat. My sister may appear to be attempting to warm me in her embrace, but I assure you she is simply holding me firmly in place as my mother continues with the grim task of “occasionally photographing that new kid.”
“Well,” you say, “you’re the same age in those pictures. It’s just a coincidence that you were wearing the same shirt.” To this I say ”Shut your pie-hole, you Know-Nothings!” I told you I am A SCIENTIST!”*
3. For your perusal: a recently uncovered photograph from a cousin’s birthday. I have highlighted my sister and I, noting her fashionable orange shirt which provides a stark contrast to The Shirt.
No, Boy-Girl! No new shirt, not even for a party!
What do we notice about this picture? (Outside of the fact that I appear to be utterly defeated by my meta-metamorphosis into an awkward boy-child?) We notice that I have thinned out. Both my sister and I appear older. Note how long her ponytails are, in direct contrast to the first two pictures. And yet, The Shirt is still my only option.
And what, you now ask, are the long term repercussions of this?
Are you kidding? Have you ever read this blog? Seriously, are you new here? Clearly, I am damaged goods. The Shirt’s effects have been long standing and deep.
And I love polka-dots.
* A wholly unsupported claim.
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She does love Polka Dots.
Hahaha! I love it. A good, sound, “one shirt should do” plan will be just fine for THIS kid.
Have you still got The Shirt?
Pog: She was wearing it last time I saw her.
LIES!
Truth be told, she did not like to change her clothes and constantly wanted to wear this shirt. You know how little kids are…sticking to the same thing over and over.
(*pssst. truly what it was, is that Mom didn’t like to get new clothes for the adopted kid, just don’t tell Cheryl that)
I didn’t know they had Instagram — for all those retro, toy camera effects — back in the 60s.
I was tetro before it was tetro.
Oh ffs it would happen when I reply to you.
As a first child I can attest to the never ending doting of my mother on all things me which quickly degraded as more and more kids came along. By the time my brother came along (3rd kid) he was forced to wear my sister’s hand knitted Barbie clothes. It was not pretty and to this day cries and the mention of the “Barbie’s Camper”.
This kind of abuse should be covered under the Geneva Convention……
Kathy cut the hair off my kelly doll…three only ginger in the barbie line. I took that as a direct threat to my person, frankly.
Hmmm, no kid in the history of time ever had a favourite shirt that they wouldn’t stop wearing. I suspect this may be the fact here.
Related: there was a kid that frequented the Discovery Centre whose standard getup was: rubber boots, batman tshirt and a cape (pants too)…for at least 18 months. Coolest kid ever.
I did not choose the shirt! Snd I think we can agree it’s not cool.
“1970 was the year of our attempt at budgeting. Your father did the shopping and bought two of each shirt cuz he thought they were cute and a good deal. Your sister outgrew her pair …..you were a slow developer. That’s the reason for the longevity!”
Not buying it, mother. I was smaller than kathy i. the first pics, but by the third I outgrew her. And if you were budgeting, why would you throw out a perfectly good snoopy doll?
This post is only made more golden genius, by this: “Your sister outgrew her pair …..you were a slow developer.” There may be cause for investigating who was getting more nutrition…just sayin’. I’m the youngest of two girls so I’m familiar. Open the books on this case!