When I got to the bathroom, I looked at myself from a variety of angles in the mirror and tried once more to undo the buttons which ran all the way from the nape of my neck to the small of my back. I don’t know why but I adjusted my skirt to look at my reflection.
“Why is mum making me wear this?” I thought as I imagined being paraded in front of our neighbours.
“Oh god!” I thought as I unwillingly imagined being sent to school in it. The boys point and laugh. The girls gush and tease. The teachers, like my mother and grandmother act, as if it’s perfectly normal. The more I tried to chase these thoughts from my head, the worse they got.
