  I had another one of those dreams in which girls from elementary walked by me, shoved by me in the IGA without saying hello.
&nbsp; I was never invited to sleepovers. The only one i went to i brought a book. Bad idea. Luckily there was someone there to make the night exciting - the caper involved masking tape and the sleeping girls.
I never went to a sleepover again, which, all-in-all, i think was a good thing.&nbsp;(At the time, however, i was devestated,and rejected, and thusly, revelled in reject status, cultivating that and the chip on my shoulder)&nbsp;Too many disturbing things happened at that one. Girls pulled other girls' pjamas off. There was some dancing to a song called 'push it' (remember that terrible, terrible song? ) that can&nbsp;was definitely naughty, but in retrospect, entirely ridiculous, due to the aforementioned pjs, and the fact that these tremendously naughty girls were all of thirteen.
&nbsp; I never understood the importance of make-up, or coiffed hair. Or the coolness of underage drinking, and other things that seemed to captivate the hearts and minds of these other aliens in girl-form. The appeal of New Kids On The Block. &nbsp; I wonder if that's why I'm plagued by these moronic dreams; dreaming of girls who didn't like me, didn't understand me, while i was entirely baffled by them. It's funny. Most who have a deep-seated dislike of school can trace their distaste to high school, at least, that's how it seems. For me it was the exquistite pain of elementary. In high school, there was a measure of acceptance, it was hell for entirely different reasons.
&nbsp; Were these girls really all that different from me in actuality, do you think? Sometimes, I'm not so sure. Right now they seem a sort of homogenous;and light, and fluffy-&nbsp;like cotton candy. But that can't be right. I remember flashes&nbsp;of individuality, of at least insecurity - the girl who tried a new hairstyle, and whispered to me in the bathroom 'Do i really look like a dog with my hair like this?
' There was the girl who was a lot tougher than most; she always went to school, ill or not. She threw up one day in class, she tried so hard to make it to the bathroom. She made it to the garbage can by the teacher's desk. The smell was awful, and one of the few boys in the class ran to the back of the room to open&nbsp;a window. Unfortunately, he underestimated the effect the puke smell would have on him. He shoved his nose under his t-shirt, but it didn't help.
He puked, too. I don't remember him having a another&nbsp;shirt to change into. I hope he did. &nbsp; I remember having my lunch box made fun of on my first day of school, because it was a superman lunch box, and according to Them, it was a boy's lunchbox. That, i think, sort of set the tone. I skipped grade one, something i disuss seldom because there was a ton of garbage that went with it.
The kids thought i had skipped because a few days before i talked and talked about a new unmanned submersible that could and did inspect the remains of the Titanic. It was the first to do so, and i had read all about it in my Dad's National Geographic. And then, i was moved forward. &nbsp; And here ends that part of the story. 
