I couldn’t help but agree with him, and since so many girls spent most of their time wearing boyish clothes, he’s probably right. “Thing is.” I began… with a trembling voice I told him that my mother had said that if I refuse to go, then she’s no option but to consider petticoating me.

“How long for?” Peter asked.

“I dunno I didn’t ask.” I replied. “How long have you been petticoated for?”

Peter gulped and said, “Since I was eight.”

“EIGHT!” I almost yelped. I quickly deducted eight from his current age of twelve and said. “That’s four years!”

“It’ll be five years next Tuesday.” he confessed. “It started on my eighth birthday.”

“Blimey.” I couldn’t imagine how he must feel having spent five long years wearing nothing but girls clothes. “So the only time you can wear boy’s clothes is at school?” I asked. Peter nodded. I gulped and spent a few seconds weighing up my options. “I guess I’d rather wear one for your party than risk having to wear one all the time.”

That evening, my mother asked me if I’d made my mind up about Peter’s party. With great reluctance I told her I’d go and that I’d wear a dress if I have to. A broad grin swept my mother’s face. She told me that it can’t have been and easy choice to make and said she was proud of me for taking the not so easy option. “Well I’d rather wear one for just one day than have to wear one everyday like Peter does.” I replied.

“So you have taken the easy option?”

“Well… I’d hardly call it easy… but it seems easier.”

On Saturday morning my mother insisted that I have a bath before we go in to town. “Why?” I moaned, not wanting to miss any of the Saturday morning TV more than anything.

“Because we’re going to find you a party dress and you need to be nice and clean.” she replied.

“Today!” I whined.

“Well when do you suggest?” Mum asked. “Tomorrow when the shops are shut, or Monday whilst you’re at school?” she suggested. I would have said ‘never’ but I’ve sighed up to this and I can tell that my mother isn’t going to let me change my mind. I went up to the bathroom and found the bath already full of fragrant bubbles. Of course I complained and said it stank of flowers. “Like I say… I want you nice and clean… not just clean.” Mum said. “Now come on, jim-jams off and in.” she said as she pushed up her sleeves and dunked a big pink sponge into the water.