I was in third grade and attending a Christian school. My parents were going through a divorce. My world felt a little shaky. The enemy saw a little girl who was ripe for the picking. I had just recently talked my Mom into letting me wear pantyhose. I was allowed to wear nude, but not suntan. Suntan would make me look too old. I remember walking up to the front porch of the school where a guy was hanging with some of his teenage friends.
He asked me, “What is that on your legs?”
I responded very sheepishly, “Pantyhose.”
He said, “What size are they? Q for queen?!” while laughing with his friends.
I remember turning around and walking away. I distinctively remember seeing the ground as I walked. At that moment, I decided that anything I do and wear will be critiqued. That everything was open for judgment. Nothing would go unnoticed. I was something to laugh at. I was weird. I was abnormal. I was less than.