Story from The Motherish by Penny Shipway
FULL STORY HERE
It was like a scene out of Gossip Girl: rich girls with their perfectly braided hair and matching ribbons being dropped off to school in their flashy cars. There were Mercedes, BMWs, Range Rovers, a Bentley or two, while my parents pulled up to the school in an old Chrysler Sigma.
I would flee the car as quickly as possible in the hope no one would see our embarrassment, bomb of a car. It was mortifying.
I was that girl.
I would flee the car as quickly as possible in the hope no one would see our embarrassment, bomb of a car. It was mortifying.
I was that girl.
A middle class girl in a rich kids’ school.
All my friends had mansions with circular drive ways and sparkling swimming pools that resembled Barbie’s Dreamhouse. We had an old Queenslander, which Dad painted himself, and a jacaranda tree which sprinkled its purple flowers over the backyard during spring.
It was an idyllic home and a place of which I will always have fond memories – a place where we climbed trees, played in the dirt and read books on the sunny deck. But when it came to school, I felt out of place. I felt like the poor girl.
All my friends had mansions with circular drive ways and sparkling swimming pools that resembled Barbie’s Dreamhouse. We had an old Queenslander, which Dad painted himself, and a jacaranda tree which sprinkled its purple flowers over the backyard during spring.
It was an idyllic home and a place of which I will always have fond memories – a place where we climbed trees, played in the dirt and read books on the sunny deck. But when it came to school, I felt out of place. I felt like the poor girl.
FULL STORY HERE
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