I closed the booklet and turned around to see Peter in his new outfit. “Oh that looks much nicer than your dress.” I said as I looked him up and down. “Do the shoes fit OK?” I asked. “Guessing your size was a bit of a stab in the dark.”
Peter looked down at his feet and said they did. His mother told him to turn around and he did. Although it was clear he’d rather not. I hadn’t considered whether or not he’d wear a bra. I’d just assumed boys wouldn’t, even when petticoated. But as he turned around, the outline of the straps and back fastening of a bra was clearly visible due to his close fitting top. I made no mention of it.
“Very trendy.” his mother grinned as he turned back to us. “I love the ra-ra skirt.”
“That’s the one item I worried was a bit too girlie.” I admitted. “But the girl in the sop said it was ‘sassy’ rather than ‘girlie’.” I said as Peter looked down at it, nervously feeling the three ruffled layers of lightweight spotty fabric. “What do you think Peter?”
“It’s nice.” he shyly replied. I got the feeling he was being more polite than honest. He straightened one of his sleeves and ran his index finger along the ruffled cuff. “I like the top best.” he smiled as he looked at his arms, his shoulders, then his torso. “Purple’s cool.” he added, flattening his skirt to look at his leggings.
I couldn’t help but smile as I looked him up and down. And if I’m not mistaken, I think he does actually like it. “Well I’m glad it fits.” I said. Peter looked at me and smiled bashfully. “But you can put your pants back on if you want.” I said, “You don’t have to wear it all day.”
“No.” Peter coyly replied, looking down at himself. “I’ll keep it on for a bit.” he smiled, then gulped, before edging towards his place at the table.
“Why don’t you fetch your make-up?” his mother suggested before he had the chance to sit. “You can show granny how good you are.”
“Only if you want to Peter.” I said with his dignity in mind.
“No I’d like to granny.” he said before disappearing to his room.
“Ah well done mum.” Patricia said. “He looks lovely… and he likes them!” she grinned.
“Well I hope so.” I replied. “And yes he does look nice… even if it doesn’t comply.” I added as I overturned the booklet and looked at the image on the cover. “It’s a long way from this.” I said, holding the booklet up.
A broad grin swept Patricia’s face as she looked at the cover. “I love that picture.”
“It is quite sweet I suppose.” I said, having another look. “And I’m sure this little boy was as good as gold in his big frilly knickers and little prissy dress.”
“Well that’s the idea.” my daughter knowingly replied. She glanced towards the hallway, hearing Peter returning. “Put that in your pocket.” she said. “I’ve got another and it’s not something for Peter to read.”
I slipped it in to my coat pocket as Peter entered the kitchen. From his hand swung a leather handbag, with two small handles and a long shoulder strap. “That’s a nice bag.” I said. Somewhat bemused that he actually had a handbag!
“It’s for school.” he replied as he placed it n the table and took his seat. “Just for keeping our cosmetics and stationary in.” he said as he opened it and began removing a tin of foundation, an eye-shadow, a vanity mirror, an eye-liner pencil, mascara and a lipstick.
“I used to confiscate your mother’s make-up when she was your age.” I said as he began to apply the foundation. I fell silent as he covered his eyelids in eye shadow, before effortlessly applying the eye-liner. He glanced at me a smiled as he removed the top from the mascara, then picked up his mirror and brushed it along his eyelashes. “It’s a lovely palate.” I said. The foundation perfectly matches his skin tone, the eye-shadow and eye-liner are both neutral and not heavy. And the way he applied it made his eyes look open and alive rather than sink into their sockets. I’d noticed on Sunday that his lipstick suited his colouring perfectly, and as he applied it, it still does. Once he’d done it, he looked at me and his mother. We both told him he looked very nice… and I for one was not stretching the truth.
Shyly and coyly, he thanked us before thanking me once more for his new clothes. He punctuated this be giving me a hug… something he hasn’t done since he was about five years old. I hugged him back and stood him in front of me. “You’re very welcome.” I said, holding his waist. “And I’m glad you like them.” I added, running my hands over his flouncy ra-ra skirt.
“I do.” he smiled as I let him go. He looked down at his skirt and took hold of it. “The skirt’s a bit girlie but I like it.” he said as he paid attention to the purple satin ribbon & bow detail.
“Oh I am glad.” I smiled as he took his seat once more. Sensing the attention was making him feel too self conscious, I engaged his mother in some standard adult chat. Peter sat quietly as we talked. After putting his make up back inside his handbag and hanging it from the back of his chair, he had a look at the Alice band the shop assistant had thrown in. I thought it best not to mention anything, but true to form his mother said, “Why don’t you try it on?”
“Er…” Peter reluctantly said as he held it in both hands and began to… “Does it just go on or… do I have to brush my hair back?” he asked.
“Well it’s up to you.” his mother replied. She took it from him and placed it on her own head. “Like this…” she demonstrated with it behind her fringe. “Or like this.” she suggested as she used it to hold her fringe off her forehead.
Peter took it from her and placed it behind his fringe. His mother stood up and arranged it properly, before saying “Why don’t you have a look in the hallway, see what you think.”
Peter left and returned some twenty seconds later. “You like?” his mother asked.
He gently placed his hands on it and said, “I like that it matches my skirt.” before looking down at his short layered polka-dot ra-ra skirt. “And the shoes match my top.”
“As do your leggings.” Patricia added as she cast me a complimentary smile. “No offence mum but I’m impressed that you’ve chosen something so nice.”
“Well I did have a lot of help from a very friendly shop assistant.” I replied. “God knows what I’d have bought you if she hadn’t helped.” I said to my grandson. “If she only knew.” I thought as I recalled my cover story; tom-boy granddaughter indeed.
“Can I watch TV please?” Peter asked.
“Of course.” his mother said.
Patricia smiled at her son as he left. “I think you’ve made his holiday.” she grinned. “When he wears his dress he just looks dead ahead and forgets he’s wearing it… he can’t keep his eyes off that.”
“One-nil to granny.” I thought. “You were exactly the same when I instead you wore something I liked.” I said to my daughter.
Patricia recalled some of, in her mind, her more ghastly dresses. The one with the big yellow sun flowers on. The one I made from an old pair of curtains. The navy blue sailor dress. “And I’m sure I had a prairie dress to.”
“You had several.” I replied. “But it was the eighties.” was my excuse. I liked all the dresses she considered ‘ghastly’, but maybe she has a point… children don’t always like their mother’s clothing choices. “You was a bit old for the sailor dress.” I admitted. I think she was thirteen when I bought her that. “It seemed like an antidote for all those punky clothes you brought home.”
“I know.” Patricia replied. “In a way you petticoated me with it…”
“Well… since you put it like that.” I replied. I hadn’t really considered it beforehand, but all girls are petticoated. I recalled one of the ideas we frequently posed in my more ‘idealistic’ youth as a member of my university feminist group: If it’s OK for a man, it should be OK for a woman. It was widely accepted that many of the differences between boys and girls, men and women have been nurtured for millennia. I visualised the picture on the front of the petticoating guide in my pocket. “If it’s good for a girl, it should be good for a boy too.” I thought.
“I might buy him one for Christmas.” Patricia said.
“What? Sorry.” I said, realising my thoughts were running away with me.
“A sailor style dress.” she reiterated. “I might buy Peter one for Christmas.”
“Oh.” I replied, wondering what Peter would think about that… or more importantly, look like. “I hadn’t thought about Christmas.”
“Knowing you mum you’ve probably got most if bought and wrapped by now.” Patricia stated.
“Well , yes…” I admitted. “I meant for Peter… I always get him a few extra bits and bobs; gloves, winter socks, pyjamas… maybe a puzzle book or something.” I said. “Maybe it should be woolly tights and a nightie instead.”
“Now don’t you spend too much on him.” Patricia said, as she does every year we discuss Christmas presents. “But there’s a good gift guide in that booklet.” she said. “But like I said, you don’t have to follow it to the letter.”
As I drove home I felt far more relaxed and relieved that I had when I’d driven over. Peter was clearly chuffed with his new outfit… and I was as pleased as Punch with that result. I made myself a cup of tea and settled down in front of Midsomer Murders for the evening. One of the characters was a young bratty waif of a boy… always giving cheek and being lippy instead of respecting his elders. “If anyone could benefit from petticoating it’s him.” I thought. “Oh that reminds me.” I said aloud.
After retrieving Petticoating: A Guide for Parents and Guardians from my coat pocket, I returned to my armchair and spent a moment looking at the picture on the cover. I wondered if the little boy was thinking Oh nice! or Oh no! as his mother holds ‘his’ dress against him. “Either way I bet he’s dying to cover those knickers up.” I figured before opening the booklet.
It was an enlightening read, although in places I felt it was a little bit mean on the boys. For example, the recommendation that petticoated boys under the age of ten should wear a nappy every night for bed I feel is borderline cruel. This is accompanied by a picture of both disposable and re-usable nappies with princess or fairy designs on them, pink lacy rubbers and white or pink frilly over-knickers. I looked at the front cover again and wondered if that little boy is wearing a nappy beneath his big frilly knickers. It’s hard to tell with so many frills, I figured before returning to my page. A nappy is also advisable at birthday parties and Christmas where larger than normal quantities of fizzy drinks may be consumed, it advised. “Poor things.” I frowned, imagining the scene and understanding the logic. Both ‘night time’ and ‘party’ nappies may be utilised for older boys in special circumstances. “I wonder what constitutes ‘special circumstances’?” I thought before flicking forwards a page or two.
I reached the section on recommended styles for boys aged ten to fourteen, and knew exactly where the inspiration for Peter’s prairie dress came from. In fact some of the styles weren’t too dissimilar from the dresses I used to ‘make’ Patricia wear when she was a girl. When I read the footnote, girls of a similar age range can also be petticoated by dressing them in styles designed for much younger girls at least five years their junior, I realised again that not only had I unknowingly petticoated my daughter, but that girls are routinely petticoated to such an extent there isn’t even a word for it… it’s just the default way we treat all girls… “So why should it be different for boys? “ the feminist inside me asked.
Meanwhile, Peter and his mother also sat watching Midsomer Murders… but they weren’t engrossed in a booklet like Granny. They both managed to keep track of the plot in spite of the fact they both spent a lot of time just looking at Peter’s new outfit. When his mother informed him it was nearly nine o’clock and therefore time to get ready for bed, he asked, “Can I wear this again tomorrow?”
“Course you can.” his mother said. “So long as you don’t leave it screwed up on your floor.”
“I won’t.” he said as he disappeared with a spring in his step.
He returned five minutes later with far less gusto. His long pale legs protruded from his spacious frilly knickers, barely covered by his short baby-doll style nightie. A pair of fleecy pink ballet slippers adorned his feet. He timidly took his seat and curled his legs up. “Have I missed much?” he meekly asked.
“No not really.” she replied as I admired his prissy little nightie. “I wish I’d discovered petticoating years ago.” she thought, visualising Peter as the little boy on the cover of the petticoating guidebook.