The First Pair

They were my first. Scratched-up knees now hid beneath glorious and itchy denim. That was an ageless summer, sweaty days had to be suffered, as skinny legs were proudly sequestered under new blue jeans. I bought a comb, my reflection in shop windows grew a lot taller. The girls, O those twelve-year-old girls and their pink bubblegum knees! I dreamed of being adult enough to flirt and not get hurt by their cheeky, cheeky ways. I was in-between, my jeans were too long, baggy around the bottom, tight in the crotch. The year was far too short but looking back it fitted me perfectly well.