Of Fat and Fiction

"If you're fat, then I'm tall- and lets face it, noone could ever say that about me."

I found this letter, you see, that one of my favourite people in the world- Laura- wrote to me in our first year of college; I'd spent the night before with a friend. Leaning out of the window the next morning I kissed her goodbye, then she pulled back, squealing "oh my god you've got a fat bulge!", and then ran away from the bus laughing.
Cue paranoia and instant bad mood. Bitch- I don't talk to her so much any more.
Later that afternoon in double history Lau started concernedly (later, she informed me she was alerted to the depression by a lack of laughter at our teachers insistence that "Germany does not exist!") flicking bits of paper at me from across the room, and the above letter was born.

What Miss Lau missed out on, quite rightly, was my Irrational Pregnancy Fear- something all parents-to-be should take note of; if you will insist on sending your impressionable daughter to a boarding school run by a failed nun, then that child will forever carry the burden of the Irrrational Pregnancy Fear. This fear exists, like alll good phobias, despite all evidence to the contrary. Of course one can't get pregnant from sitting on a boys knee- but the Irrational Fear ignores such biological facts, and the thought springs to mind every single time. I've managed to lessen my Fear through years of decidedly loose morality, but the thought lingers on even today- four years after being exempt from her misguidedly diligent care- bringing a half smile to my lips.

Mrs Timpson had the kind of attitude towards alll members of boykind that is more commonly preserved for sheltered children on their first visit to the zoo; trepidation and wonder. She was the terrifying voice of comfort and concern-

Gain two pounds? Been holding hands with a boy? Tsk, you're pregnant.
Feel poorly? Been sitting on a boys lap? Pregnant.

God forbid the boys from our partner high school should ever dare to cross the empty space on the dance floor at school discos and ask one of her charges to dance.
It was always much more fun to hide in our rooms playing spin the bottle with the more worldly of these boys.

The first time I saw a tiger- being one of the sheltered children mentioned above; to this day I've never been to the zoo and have no intention of going- I was in Turkey, and there was nothing between us but a set of bars; despite knowing the tiger would have my arm if I ventured past the confines of the cage, there was nothing I wanted more than to touch it. In my less lucid moments I still regret holding back- sometimes.
Mrs Timpson had a similar attitude towards men; it was widely acknowledged- ie, a schoolyard fact- that she'd abandoned her chaste vocation at the nunnery after a fleeting eyes-met-across-a-crowded-room moment; and the real story, as I found out later, wasn't far off.
Tick. Playground rumour's seldom wrong.
Sex Ed lessons were possibly the highlight of my highschool years. Every lesson was a treat, from the first "We are not here to talk about sexual positions girls so be quiet and pay attention! Sexual intercourse is no laughing matter, you could come a great cropper one of these days!"
To the last- why one should never ever go to the cinema with a boy, even if he offers to pay and even if you feel gratitude for being bought a nice meal (because it's dark, and it's the nature of all boykind to take advantage of unsuspecting girls and have their wicked touchy way with them, if you must know). Although I don't kow about you, but I was never taken for a posh meal by a boy during high school. Of course, the uniform might have had something to do with that- I never did look good in blue, but I have always adored hats, blue, straw, or otherwise.
*Adjusts beret*
But it's thanks to her, the lovely Mrs T that, despite being condemned to a lifetime of the Irrational Pregnancy Fear, I've never had any problems with the whole condom side of things*; I was putting condoms on boiling tubes before I was unwrapping tampons. Fact.


*On that note, does anyone have any idea where I can get a polka dot condom from? There's nothing I like more than novelty condoms. But not for one night stands- the one night standish members of boykind tend not to have the biggest sense of humour when, giggling, you pull out a glow in the dark condom and insist on using it.