And after hand me down?  

When I began to break out of that me-as-mini-version-of-my-mother?

Hooped petticoats, fed with faux-whalebone strips to stand out like a lampshade, space between hem and thigh filled with flounced and ruffled netting.

My father ruffled and forbidding, me flouncing in temper from the room.

Blacker fury for my black stockings teamed with mini-skirt: ‘No better than a Piccadilly tart!” he thundered.

And I wondered how he knew.

Views: 24

Tags: adolescence, clothes, parents

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Comment by Stephen Torelli on August 18, 2012 at 6:25pm

"Piccadilly tart!" I had to look that up. Funny stuff.

Comment by Joey Delgado on August 17, 2012 at 5:46pm

'Blacker fury for my black stockings...' Love it. Is cheeky the same as sassy, because that's what this piece is. :)

Comment by Sandra Davies on August 17, 2012 at 1:12am

No Gita - mutinous silence, always.   I never did learn to answer back :(

Comment by Gita on August 16, 2012 at 8:54pm

Ooooooooooo! Around my house they used to say, "You're going out in THAT?"

Love sentence 6. Were you cheeky enough to say such aloud?

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