I peered warily down at my thighs oozing across the chair like pancake batter across a hot griddle.
I glanced surreptitiously at the other girls sitting close to me. Their thighs behaved.
Why did mine take up so much space? I lifted them up off the chair just a tiny bit, making them smaller.
I was seven.
I’d absorbed the message: shrink. Don’t draw attention to what’s wrong with you (and believe us THERE ARE THINGS WRONG WITH YOU).
Then, maybe people will like you.
As if being liked was ever a worthwhile goal.