When we were teens at school, there was a bit of a rise in talk of students’ rights in the media. Anyway, one of my friends, Carol, had been reported to our form teacher for wearing a skirt far too short. She had had at least one warning already, to my knowledge, and continual offending usually meant a meeting between our form teacher’s slipper and the offender’s bottom. Things were not improved for Carol by the knowledge that this lady could really sting your bottom.

Carol said to us, “It’s not fair! We should be allowed to wear our skirts how we like. Who are they to tell us what to do? I’m going to really tell Miss Phipps that we have our rights!”

We all admired Carol’s guts, but all said that such talk might make matters worse not better with Miss Phipps, who was strict but fair. I got on quite well with her in spite of the fact I’d collected more than one hot bum off her, courtesy of her slipper.

But Carol would not be dissuaded, and went off to see Miss Phipps in high dudgeon.

At the end of break, we were waiting to go into the class when along came Carol looking red-faced and teary-eyed, and walking somewhat stiffly. We all had to suppress a grin.

“What did Miss Phipps say about our rights?” someone asked.

“Owach!” said Carol as she stood rubbing her bum.

WW