From Sixth Form onwards I always liked the Sisters of Mercy but, truth be told, I was a rubbish goth – too happy, too optimistic and nowhere near brooding enough. I rediscovered all my old Sisters of Mercy tapes a few years ago and in a gush of nostalgia I immediately went out and bought all the albums on crisp, shiny, new CD. Consequently the Sisters have featured on my various iPod playlists for some time now and I succumbed last week and ordered a Sisters t-shirt too.
I had an original Sisters T-shirt in the 1980s but gave it away to an older girl I fancied at college. She used it to sleep in but she never gave me the same privilege as my T-shirt. I should have asked for it back but such a request seemed churlish and petty – especially as soon afterwards I learnt she was also shagging one of my favourite lecturers. Bitch...
Anyway, my replacement Sisters T-shirt arrived early on Saturday morning so I signed for the parcel, tried on the T-shirt and headed back upstairs to the snoozing Missus.
‘Look. I’m King of the Goths!’
‘You’re not wearing any trousers…’
‘The King of the Goths sets trends and doesn’t follow them!’
The Missus sighed and turned back over to go to sleep. Later that afternoon we go to grab a coffee and the Missus asks me what I want.
‘A strawberry and cream frappuchino with cream on top.’
The Missus looks at me, lowers her eyes to my Sisters T-shirt then looks at the women serving us.
‘A strawberry and cream frappuchino for the King of the Goths please…’
I am a fraud.
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