A Tale of Illicit Skin

Modesty is something that's important in my church and in my family. This makes buying clothes for a six foot teenage girl more interesting than it might otherwise be, and leads to interesting gymnastics in the changing room. Bend forward, sit down, stand up, do a little shimmy- if nothing comes apart it's good.

For the most part, modesty in not something I struggle with. I'm coming more and more to the conclusion that all tall girls are self-conscious, and when you're self-conscious it's easy to walk on the safe side of modesty.

But sometimes I like to sprawl on the floor to read or write or play video games or watch a movie. Not because the couch isn't big enough, but because there's something very freeing about lying on the floor.

And sometimes when I do this, my shirt and my pants part company.

The Teacher started a game to remedy this some time ago. It's called "Illicit skin ha ha ha ha!" Just like money on the floor belongs to Mom, illicit skin- that stripe of skin between my shirt and my pants- is a free tickle. And I'm ticklish (shh! don't tell!). Not as ticklish as I used to be thanks to a certain someone, but I am ticklish. So the result is that when I sprawl on the floor, the first thing I do before picking up my book, pencil, or controller, is yanking my shirt down. Just to be safe.

And if this was the end of the story, it wouldn't be very fair. (The Teacher doesn't believe in fair anyway.) But the beautiful thing about rules in this house is that they are never double standards. The Teacher would say this is because of her gracious nobleness blah blah. I say it's because I'm too old now for her to get away with it.

The point is that sometimes the Teacher likes to sprawl. And her shirts are normally shorter than mine anyway. And sometimes her clothing parts company. And sometimes a little bit of skin gleams like silver against the couch.

And then...!