[by charlotte guest]
You feel something poking into your back, and not in a sexy way.
It’s mother’s finger. She says you’re as round as Arthur’s table. You look like the handle piece of an umbrella.
Good posture is everywhere, like a desirable rash. Like you were the only baby born with a pipe-cleaner spine and C-cup shoulder blades.
Sexy words like “hump” and “curves” suddenly refer to your slouch, the way back-less dresses accentuate your back-full body, the way it juts out like the rear end of question mark.