I was 9 years old and one of the littlest girls in my school (prem baby and still wearing 4 year old clothes at the age of 11, kind of thing, lol!) One day, in the school yard, I saw some girls playing French skipping (you know: when they tie a large piece of elastic around their ankles and take turns to jump in, out and onto the elastic, slowly raising it to their knees and doing the same moves, then raising the elastic higher, to their thighs.) I wanted to join in, but they wouldn’t let me play. No reason not to - just a case of exclusion (or, as we have come to recognise it, these days, common or garden bullying, but girl-style.) When they said “No”, I was hurt but didn’t show any emotion, didn’t say anything back. Instead, I went into the classroom, delved into the handicrafts box, emerged with a pair of scissors, then walked out into the yard, sneaked up behind one of the girls, waited until the elastic was up to the most sensitive part of their legs … and then calmly cut it. Ping! it went. “Ow!!” they cried. [O, delicious revenge against these arsey little madams!!!] Drawing up my tiny body in front of them, “Can I play now?”, I asked. And they let me join in. Justice done. Yay!