Yes, the skirt has a lengthy slit up the side; it has not been ripped, though I admit it looks as though someone, leering, had given it a good ripping tug.
     I like to fancy that my legs, at least, are passable. In reality, however, I know they leave much to be desired. Shapeliness, mainly.
      Always a skinny kid, I remember a time when I was brushing my teeth, standing at the bathroom mirror in my underwear. I must have been about fifteen. I'd left the door open, and as I brushed diligently I suddenly saw my father's image appear behind me in the mirror. He grinned. Pretty nice legs for a boy, he said.
       Brushing furiously, I must have turned a hundred shades of red. This was the kind of banter he cultivated with me, as if to teach me male locker-room talk-- but I remember his teasing remark as one of the nicest things he ever said to me.