A red skirt, falling below the knee. Layers of ruffles. A black belt with a plastic buckle. 

Mrs S. would always ask me to wear this skirt for school plays. I hated taking part in school performances. 

As a child, I didn’t understand that my level of stress was wildly out of proportion to standing on a stage decorated with tissue-paper flowers. I thought all children felt that way. 

The teachers gave me a part in every school play. Smart, well-behaved girls who were eager to learn took an active part in school life. 

Stand up straight. Speak clearly. Politely. Neatly. Correctly. 

God, how I fucking hate that red skirt.