Mum said that she presumes Peter is not being petticoated because he’s naughty, but because he’s vulnerable.

“Sometimes if they’re gullible or easily led,

petticoating is employed to make sure they don’t go off the rails and to stop them getting involved in the wrong crowd.”

“That’s really mean,” I replied.

“Especially if he’s done nothing wrong.”

“It isn’t really,” Mum claimed.

“In fact, it comes highly recommended as a non-confrontational method of discipline because all it involves is a simple change of clothes.”

“Yeah but…

they weren’t normal girl’s clothes,

they were really horrible!” I said as I visualized the rail in his room.

“The sorts of dresses that most girls would refuse to wear;

all pink and frilly with bows, flowers and…”

I drew my description to a close with a puke mime.

Mum smiled and nodded and said,

“That’s the style they wear when petticoated.”

“It’s horrible.” I balked.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Mum replied.

“I think ‘too nice’ is more appropriate,” she suggested.

Either way, it’s not something I want to think about.

I glanced at the time and figured Peter would be home by now.

I recalled his mother saying

‘let’s get you home and out of that uniform’

I figured he’d be wearing something girlie by now…

but I didn’t want to think about it.

I returned to my room and put the Colditz game away.

Peter said he used to have this game as well as some of the same model tanks and planes as me,

which means he used to be a normal boy.

I wondered what he did when his mother first petticoated him;

was he willing or did he put up a fight?

I can’t imagine the former so settled for the latter of the two possibilities…

but I didn’t want to think about it.

A few weeks later, Peter said. “It’s my birthday next week and Mum asked if you wanted to come for tea.”

I told him I’d like to but would have to check with my mother first.

“What day?” I asked.

“Tuesday,” Peter replied.

“The sixth…

but I’ll forewarn you.” he added, “I have to wear my party dress.

I tried to get out of it but Mum wouldn’t budge.”

He hung his head and I said I hoped I wouldn’t have to wear a dress too.

“You’re not petticoated like me,” he replied.

I told him that I’d have to check with my mother first.

I wasted no time telling my mother that Peter had invited me to his birthday when I arrived home.

“I know,” Mum replied.

“An invitation came through the letterbox this afternoon,” she told me.

“I assume his mother popped it round,” she said as she passed me the card.

“Peter warned me that he’ll have to wear a dress,”

I said as I took the card;

pink and white striped with a print of a pink satin bow

With the words Peter’s Birthday Party written on the front.

On the reverse it says

‘You’re invited to join us in celebration of Peter’s Birthday ‘.

The whole thing is pink and girlie,

even the ornate lettering makes his name look girlie.

I feel sorry for him.

He doesn’t have many friends and I guess I really should accept the invitation,

but if he’ll be wearing one of his prissy dresses, maybe I should decline.

“I’m not sure if he wants me to go or if his mother told him to invite me,” I said.

“I got the feeling he’d rather I didn’t.”

“What makes you say that?” Mum asked.

“I just think he’d rather keep his friends and his home-life separate,” I said.

“He never invites anyone around and he wasn’t happy when I called unannounced that time,” I added.

“But he has invited you,” Mum said.

“He might be upset if you don’t go…

 if he doesn’t have many friends it won’t be very nice celebrating his birthday alone.”