As Peter’s birthday neared, he got more and more excited about becoming a teenager… thirteen sounds so much cooler than boring old monosyllabic twelve. However his enthusiasm ebbed when his mother told him that she’d decided the time was right to buy him his first dress. “But I don’t want a dress mum… you know I hate dresses.”

“But lots of boys wear dresses Peter… you want to fit in don’t you?” his mother argued.

“No they don’t.” Peter insisted, knowing full that those who did wear dresses were a definite minority.

“Oh come on Peter you know they do… you said yourself that there’s three boys in your class who wear skirts.”

“Yeah, and like ten others who don’t.” Peter insisted.

“And next term it’ll be five against eight, then half and half. The way things are going, this time next year you’ll probably be the only one left if you wore trousers.” she explained.

“What do you mean if I wore trousers?”

His mother became a little nervous and made a few false starts. “Well… once you er… erm… well…” she stopped and started again. “What I’m trying to say is, once you’ve got used to wearing dresses…”

“I promise you… I won’t!” Peter insisted.

“Of course you will.” she replies. She then goes on to explain about some of the articles she’s read. “Now I’m not saying this is going to be easy, and I understand why you’re fighting it. Any boy would. But you have to understand that it’s a women’s world now… we wear the trousers.”

“But why should that mean that I have to become a girl?” Peter retorted.

“You’re not becoming a girl love… the roles are reversing… now it’s your turn to be pretty.” she smiles. “And believe me Peter, it’s nowhere near as bad as you think it is.”

“I’m sure it will be.”

“Well you’ll never know until you’ve tried.” his mother smiled. She made him a drink and placed it on the coffee table for him. She picked up one of her magazines, flicked through it and found ‘the page’ then passed it to Peter. “I know you won’t like any of them, but have a flick through anyway… see if there’s a best of the bad bunch eh?”

The images in front of Peter horrified him. Dresses for boys his age are like dresses for 8 year old girls used to be; all frills and ruffles and lace and bows. Page after page he went, hating each and every one of them. As a result, he offered his mother no help in choosing his first dress.

It was three days before Peter’s birthday when his mother proudly stated that she’d bought him his first dress. He tried his best to get out of trying it on, but his mother insisted, claiming that if it was the wrong size she’d have to take it back. So reluctantly Peter wore the dress, hoping with all his being that it would be the wrong size and therefore returned.

“That’s perfect.” his mother said, stepping back and looking him up and down. “How does it feel?”

Peter looked down at himself, clad in pink satin with a big white bow. “Horrible. Can I take it off?” he asked. “Pleeease.” he added. His mother said he had to try his new shoes first, and much to his displeasure, presented him with a pair of pink satin pumps and thin white ankle socks.

Once fully dressed, his mother stepped back and smiled at him lovingly. “You’re going to look so nice on Sunday.” she said, before planting a white ribbon on his head.

Peter gulped and looked at his reflection. “I’m not wearing this on Sunday mum.” he said. “It’s my birthday and all my friends…”

“…will be wearing dresses too.” his mother interrupted.

“No they won’t! None of my friends wear dresses!” he insisted.

“Peter darling… I put a dress code on the invites stating that boys must attend wearing party dresses.”

Peter claims she’s going to ruin his life, that none his friends will come and they’ll think he’s turning girlie… but his mother tells him that Simon’s mother and John’s mother have already replied, and they will be attending in dresses, as will his cousins James and Michael, and Nigel from down the road.