Every now and then, the following conversation (or something like it) occurs between me and Ben from Dog Biting Men:
"You know, you're my favourite goth."
"But I'm not a goth."
"Exactly -- that's what I'm talking about."
And subsequent protestations go ignored. Now, unlike, say, Apathy Jack (whose repeated insistence of non-gothhood simply serves to emphasize how goth he is) I really don't consider myself anything more than peripheral to the goth scene. I mean, some of my best friends and all that, but, you know...
Anyway, yesterday my girlfriend needed a baggy T-shirt, so I suggested she borrow one of mine. She reaches into my drawer and pulls out a swag of neatly folded black T-shirts:
"I don't want one that says rude things on it -- how about this?" (picking up a still-folded T-shirt from the pile)
"That's my Preacher one."
"How can you tell them apart?"
"They're all different... shades... of... black..."
Slowly my world began to crumble.