Phoebe Judge

Getting into and out of your skin was something all children had to learn at some point.

Alongside learning how to use the toilet, tie your shoelaces, and blow your nose, it was all part of growing up.

To begin, you struggled.

You were clumsy.

You got your arms stuck.

Your flesh got all twisted and out of shape.

It hurt, too.

So much that you'd cry out in pain and just sob uncontrollably and had to be held and rocked and consoled and hushed until you calmed down.

It was okay.

You'd just try again tomorrow.

You did so well.

You really did.

By the time you got to primary school, you had it pretty much down.

Sure, there was room for refining.

but it was adequate enough.

Still, there were those children who hadn't quite mastered it yet.

The same ones who would accidentally wet themselves during class, or who looked dirty and smelled bad, their clothes old and frayed and ill-fitting.

The other kids cruelly pointing at them, sticking gum in their hair and laughing.

In high school, there were other matters to contend with, such as puberty and breasts and hairs and hormones and pimples.

And sex.