“So what’s this I’ve heard about a protest tomorrow?” Toby’s mother asked when he arrived home from school. “Something to do with the boys not being allowed to wear shorts…”

“Errr, yeah… some of them are going to wear skirts tomorrow.” he replied. “So they claim anyway.”

“And are you going to be involved?”

“No.” he bluntly retorted.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a stupid idea.”

“But… wouldn’t you like the option of wearing shorts when the weather’s hot?”

“Not really.” he shrugged. “I only wear shorts when I have to.”

“Well… don’t you think it’s important that the boys who’d prefer to wear shorts should be allowed to?” she asked.

“Yeah.” he replied. “Course.”

“Then maybe you should take part in the protest.” his mother suggested.

“Nah.” he replied. “It’s a stupid protest and I’d look stupid in a skirt.”

“Have you worn one?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know you’d look stupid?”

“Because boy’s don’t wear skirts.”

“They will be tomorrow.” his mother smiled. “…anyway, just because boys don’t normally wear skirts doesn’t mean they’d look stupid if they did.” she added, reminding me that boys and men in Scotland and Ireland often wear kilts.

“Yeah but we’re not in Scotland or Ireland… and a kilt isn’t a skirt.”

“The skirts at your school are very similar to a kilt.” his mother retorted. Being pleated and plaid, she’s not wrong.

“Yeah but.” Toby began… but he didn’t have anything to say. After a short silence, he asked if he could go and get changed.

“Homework first.” his mother replied.

“Oh.” he whined.

In the last few weeks Toby’s mother has decided that he’s not allowed out of his school uniform until his homework is complete in the hope that he’ll do it sooner rather than later. “You know the rules Toby… school isn’t over ’til you’ve done your homework.” she reminded him.

“OK.” he moaned, before grabbing his school bag and heading to his room. “Mu-um!” he hollered from his room.

“Yes?” his mother hollered back from the kitchen.

“Why is there a skirt on my bed?” he asked from the landing.

His mother appeared in the hallway below. Her face bore the broadest of grins. “It’s for tomorrow.” she told him. “But you can try it on now of you want.”

 

“I told you that I’m not getting involved.” he replied in exasperation.

“Why not?” his mother asked. “It’s a peaceful protest and you should get involved.” she stated. “I bought it especially.”

Toby’s mother has always been a keen protester. Only last summer she was protesting against fracking and in her youth she protested against the poll-tax and camped at Newbury for a couple of months. She marched against the bombing of Iraq and more recently against the government’s penny pinching austerity policies. She strongly believes that if you want something, you have to at least stand up and be counted.

Through a combination of logic and pestering, Toby reluctantly donned the skirt. “It’s really short!” he whined. His fingers hovered nervously around the pleaded hem.

“It’s certainly not too short.” she said. “Most of the girls wear them that length.” she added.

“I’m not a girl.” he said, putting his hands on its waistband. “…and the waist should be lower.”

“That’s where your waist is.” she informed him.

“Not on my trousers it isn’t.” he stated.

“It’s not a pair of trousers.” she stated. “Turn around… let me have a proper look.” she asked.

“It looks ridiculous.” he moaned as he kicked out his foot, bearing a black leather lace up shoe and a wrinkly grey ankle sock.

“No it doesn’t.” his mother claimed. “But it could look better.”

“How?”

“Well you could pull your socks up for a start.” she smiled. He sneered and said his hairy legs looked stupid. “They’re not that hairy.” she said, before suggesting that he get on with his homework. He asked if he could put his trousers back on. “No.” she said. “You can get used to that for a while.”

“Oh mu-um!” he whined.

She gave him the look. He sighed and slumped at his desk. His pale fuzzy knees knocked nervously together as he shyly smoothed it over his lap. “Actually… you can do your homework downstairs where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Oh mu-um… what if someone comes round and sees me?”

“You’re practising for tomorrow’s protest.”

“What’s there to practice?” he quizzed. “All we’re doing is wearing skirts.”

“And that’s what you need to practice.” she replied. He adopted a bemused expression. “For a start you need to remember to keep your knees together.” she said, drawing his attention to the fact that his had parted. He snapped them shut. She smiled and informed him that he needs to learn how to not flash his underwear. “Come on.” she said. He bundled his books and pencil case and followed his mother downstairs. His skirt swished with every step and whilst it didn’t feel uncomfortable to wear, he certainly felt uncomfortable wearing it.