I am going away for a few days.

I will be attending a family gathering of parents, siblings, in-laws, teeny-tiny children and aged relatives. I am sure it will be delightful … except, and I am hoping not to be alone in this, going home makes me revert to my thirteen year old self. And when I was thirteen I was good.

As my thirteen year old self I know that within twenty minutes of arrival I will be sneaking outside for a smoke and punching my brothers on the arm when they tease me. I will be muttering sarcastic comments under my breath and will totter off for sly drinks when I am supposed to be engaging maiden aunts in genteel conversation.

Well, maybe as a thirteen year old I was not so much good as I was excellent at not getting caught. I did an awful lot of bad things but not once did my pigeons come home to roost.

And so, as an adult, whilst at the parental abode I will be well-behaved (as far as is noticeable) and restrain from my day to day behaviour. It will be the old familiar feeling of being hemmed in and not quite able to take a breath, as though in the tightest and most restrained corset. I do love corsets but I would rather they were worn for recreation rather than metaphorical allusions to a feeling of vague imprisonment.

This will take up all of my energy and any potential I have to be good at all for about two weeks after I get back.

So consider this a warning.

Corsets can only hold a girl in for so long.
(This photo is by Alexandre Dupouy, isn’t it beautiful? I found it on Brambleberryblush and it quite took my breath away)

Would you like another?