Things you know if you attended an all-girls Catholic school
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High-school is a period of time which we take for granted whilst we’re there, and then come to realise were usually the best years of our lives once we’re forced into adulthood. Attending high school at an all-girls Catholic institution is an experience that you cherish forever. But we must be forced to question actually just how bizarre your experience at school was. Here are a few things I think all survivors of such an experience are well acquainted with.
The rank uniforms
The uniforms are the bane of your life, and you bare the full brunt of comment on their rancidity from students at neighbouring schools. I thought kilts were for Scottish men? You stick out like a sore thumb, and none of the Jane Norman bags match the colours – disaster. Still, you try to put your own twist on the uniform by rolling up your skirt so that it skims your arse cheeks. The ultimate maverick would even replace the abnormally coloured tights with a pair of translucent black ones, or make their tie double the width length it should be (stick it to the man). All you can do is pray and hope that the sixth form uniform is a marginal improvement, or even better, “own clothes”.
Everyone thinks you’re all lesbians
It was apparent that neighbouring schools put you into two categories – lesbian, or frigid. To which I say, “on the contrary”. Most of your friends were highly well acquainted with the opposite sex, and most definitely had an appetite. They especially had an eye for the lads in one of the schools across the road. This was exhibited at house parties, where we all tended to get absolutely rank, and left to dread the debrief that would occur during registration on Monday. But in all fairness, we didn’t exactly perpetrate a wholesome image.
Fucking. Cake. Stalls.
For some obscure reason Catholic girls’ schools seemed to be obsessed with cake stalls. I feel like I spent 80 per cent of my school days making enough rice crispy cakes to feed a small village incase someone forgot to bake the night before. I’m not sure we even knew what cause the cake stalls were being held for. These cake stalls seemed to be a weekly thing – rest assured, I always had a coin stash ready to get on that at break time.
The male teacher
There was always one male teacher everyone was in love with. Usually quite a young guy, but age wasn’t really a preference. The thing was, this teacher wasn’t fit at all. Not even remotely. It was purely down to the fact that seeing men about was a bit of a rarity to us school gals, or maybe it was his position of authority. Either way, he wasn’t fit – but that didn’t stop us writing his name in love hearts in our homework diaries.
The turd bun
There’s a perception of Catholic school girls, commonly exhibited I imagine on Pornhub, and in sexy halloween costumes. I’m afraid this perception is based on a total fantasy, as most girls loved to don the classic turd bun. When wearing said hairstyle, we give no fucks, we don’t want to be awake. It was the staple hair style, and it looked like shit, but we loved it. This hairstyle was accompanied by a bare face. You read correctly, no Maybelline Matte Mousse in sight.
The changing rooms
Before you get any ideas – I’m not talking about the fact we’d get changed in there, I’m talking about being choked out by the stench of Charlie body spray. An absolute life saver when your BFFFFL had some Charlie in her makeshift Newlook carrier bag/P.E bag, after playing Netball (all year round, as the teacher couldn’t be arsed to think of anything else to do). So many variations of Charlie spray, perfect for the Catholic school girl.
Did you even go to a Catholic school if your school didn’t have it’s own nun? More so, was she even a nun if she didn’t get turnt in Mass? Mass wasn’t the most exciting thing in the world, but if you managed to get a seat next to your best mate you would have a right laugh. Someone would always pretend they were Catholic to go and receive communion (groundbreaking). The best was when it got to the part where you’d say “peace be with you, and also with you”, as this was the perfect opportunity to run around the hall to catch your mates. Even better you had to shake the fit male teacher’s hand (on reflection, he wasn’t fit). Not to mention the bangers you’d sing, like this absolute tune:
Getting that black mark off your head post Ash Wednesday was a bit of a nightmare though.
What sex education? If your idea of sex ed is a visit from the local nurse showing you how to put a bubblegum flavoured condom onto a banana, then maybe you should consider taking up a career at a Catholic girls’ school. As for discussion of periods, the extent of that was the nurse passing around a huge pair of knicks with a pad attached to them, and the receptionist being in possession of a secret box of super absorbent tampons under her desk.
You make friends for life
Jokes aside, it really is the best experience. No closer bond than with the girls you told the teacher you had to miss half an hour of science with because of “lady problems”. Catholic girl school is the non-fictional answer to St Trinians, and I wouldn’t change my experience there for the world.