Now, Mother regularly takes
In “London Life” each week and makes
A study of your reader’s views
I have to mind my P’s and Q’s;
For with high heels, tight gloved and stays
She vows she’ll tame my Tomboy ways
She’s squeezed me into high-legged boots,
A size too small, that pinch like brutes
They’ve “tooth-pick” toes, and button right
Up to my knees, and fit skin-tight,
With six-inch heels (the new straight spike)
To make my carriage “lady-like.”
I’ve long stiff, narrow corsets laced
So tightly that I’ve now a waist
Of sixteen inches! And they keep
Me laced and booted while I sleep.
Encased in these I cannot sprawl,
Or ever lounge about at all.
My arms are creaselessly compressed
In shoulder-length kid gloves, and dressed
In baby frocks designed to show
My boots and gloves off. I’ve to go
For walks, though perched on stilts so high,
I’m stared at till I’d like to cry!
No longer do I know the joys
Of Pillion-riding with the boys,
For mother keeps me at housework
And canes me if I shirk,
While father smiles and says “advice
Like yours’ is cheap at any price!”
-“SEVENTEEN.”