What can YOU say in six sentences?
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.