A Born Nudist...

I wasn't a Monkey Bar Kid.

Every lunchtime the other girls would all have a go at it, while the boys stood laughing at them as their knickers flashed. I had a morbid fear that it would happen to me one day that I had forgotten to wear any undies, so me and whichever friends I was playing with at the time would usually grab one of the trees to play under instead.

It was always a rush to get to the best tree. The floor beneath it's branches was always kept well swept and had plenty of holes for playing marbles in. One of the boys who was a fast runner would sprint there after lunch and claim it for the monkey bar kids. I raced him for years but never even beat him once. He got his nickname because he always drank chocolate Moove milk.

We played all kinds of games but one that went on for ages was The Dukes of Hazard, which I played with two friends I'll call Rrr and Bbbb. Poor Rrr had to be Boss Hogg all the time, which I'm ashamed to say was probably because everyone at school thought she was a bit overweight, but she was actually pretty good at playing the part, and we were pretty close friends growing up. I hope it wasn't one of the reasons she developed the eating disorder that she got later in year seven, though I suppose it could have been. And even though it was so many years ago, and we were only kids who didn't know any better at the time, I have apologised to her for it. I still see Rrr occasionally. The last time I talked to her I think she cried a little when I told her I'd given up drinking. A fake fact- I have only cut back, actually, but it meant a lot that she still might actually care about what happens to me after knowing me for twenty seven years.

But I regress. It was Bbbb who was my best friend in Kindergarten, and if not my best friend is definitely my oldest and longest friend still. Bbbb was Buttercup and I was Daisy. We'd play at Buttercup's house after school and continue the story from where we left off at lunchtime. Buttercup liked Beau and I liked Luke- the one with dark hair that is, if that was him- and we'd gallop on our pretend horses through the bush in her backyard. We'd be chased by the sheriff and Luke and Beau would rescue us in the General Lee. I don't think she ever invited me over, though; I just used to keep walking past my house and that's how I ended up inside eating the popcorn that her mother makes for Bbbb and her brother every afternoon. Not that this gets Bbbb into trouble...

I remember two different tmes I invited myself over to other people's houses for a swim and they were the one's who got into trouble. One girl had a pool shaped like Mr Greedy. I would tell their mothers that their kids had definitely asked me over for a swim, and, because I was so convincing, they believed me and thought that their kids had just forgotten about it. Or maybe I'm wrong and they could see straight through me, and just felt sorry for a kid who would go to all this trouble just to have a swim when she has a pool of her own at home. It's hard to tell.

Once I even invited myself to one of the most popular girls in my class' birthday party and I had my Father drive me there, but when we got there and I saw all the other kids in their pretty girl party clothes and pig tails- and there was me in a T-shirt and a pair of blue flannelette shorts with joggers on, I wished I hadn't gone to all the bother of pretending to be invited.

I am a scruffy person still- I don't mind having knotted hair or wearing clothes that should be in a rag bag; but I used to be a lot worse than I am now. Back then one of my friend's fathers didn't want me hanging out with their daughter, who also happened to be my Kindred Spirit at the time, because I was such a scruff. I think he only changed his mind about me because he got to know me over the years and eventually realised that I was an okay person.

Now at least I wear clean clothes most of the time. But back then no one seemed to notice that I would often sleep in my school uniform and wear it again the next day- or if they did they didn't seem too worried about it; and my middle Sister used to cut my hair short so it wasn't necessary to comb it as there was very little point to it. It's no wonder the boys didn't like me-I was such a grot compared to the other little girls. I'm sure the parents of the kids whose birthday parties I went to wish they could cut the kid out of the photos who hadn't even bothered to wash her face before turning up, by the look of it. And if I wasn't in my shool tunic I would be wearing my other uniform; a faded Lightning Ridge t-shirt that my Grandfather brought back for me from one of his hunting trips, and a pair of orange netballer's pants called Scungies.

It wasn't that I had no nicer clothes. I did. But they were too itchy, or too girly or too ugly; and I would cry and scratch myself and scream and refuse to wear them. One time, I refused to wear a dress to the pictures and so I wasn't allowed to go. I stayed home with my Father while my Mother took my Sisters to see the Shaggy D.A and after they left I sat angrily reading one of my Mother's women magazines, pointing at each beautiful model, crying and saying 'yuck' and how ugly they all were. I was mistaken for a boy constantly and often, which still irks my insecurities, especially as it still happens occasionally. Even though I now have fairly long hair, which looks reasonable enough when I brush it loose from it's usual thin plait.

My Mother tried unsuccessfully for years to get me to relinquish that t-shirt and those orange scungies, but that just made it all the more important to me to keep them. It's no wonder I wore them all the time; if I'd let her near them for even a second she would have tried to throw them away. Or burn them. I'm sure she thinks I was just being difficult, but they meant more to me than that. They were a part of my identity; much like my blue teddy-bear nightie is today. She got her revenge though, by getting her friend to find me a replica shirt when she was passing through Lightning Ridge many years later. It's not the same colour as the last one I had and I don't wear it as much as I did the first one, either.

What I wear holds significance for me though, a fact many people would find surprising if you could see what I wear most of the time. At th minute I'm wearing old painting clothes but at least they are warm and dry. It's the only function clothes need to have, if you think about it. I am a born nudist. But sometimes I'll wear things inside out or back to front depending on my mood, or I'll wear broken clothes, or dirty and stained clothes. Not that people realise I am giving them these clues about my mood- they just see me as being sloppy rather than sad. Sometimes it's already been a good day if you just have a shower and change your clothes.

I told you earlier that I was strange- but I am also a creature of many bad habits; many of which have become one of my many addictions. And sometimes I believe my own lies. I can tell an elaborate tale when I want to.

It's gotten me out of a lot of shit in my life, that's for sure, but it's also seen me land in it- more than once or twice.