You were not attractive. Skin and bones, flat in the front and back, you came along in those certain worldview shoes that, heaven knows why, we thought were so suitable if one wanted to turn the world upside down. Your skirts were always far too long because you were ashamed of your legs, X or O, I can't remember, but definitely rachitic. It was clear that you hadn't been raised on too much butter and milk. Your hair hung in unkempt strands, and visiting a hairdresser was just not your thing. "We have the better idea, but the Nazis have the prettier girls," one of the group used to say, and looking at you, one really had to agree with him.