Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Kathy slyly routing in her handbag. I looked and she smiled as she removed a camera. I looked at Timothy who’s cautiously removing the wrapping paper from his new train set. He was completely oblivious to the camera framing him until the room was filled with a magnificent yet momentary light. Startled, he turned and whined, “Oh please don’t take any photos!”
“Sorry Timmy but…” Kathy grinned. “…I couldn’t resist.” She aimed the camera at him and prompted him to continue.
“Oh Mu-um!” he whined when he’d removed enough paper to reveal his ‘big’ present.
He blinked and flinched as the camera flash illuminated him again. After complaining about his train set, I explained again to him that his behaviour this year didn’t warrant him getting the Intercity 125 he’d hoped for. “…and if your behaviour doesn’t improve next year, you’ll be getting nothing but Barbie dolls.” I informed him. “Think yourself lucky that you got something other than just dolls and dresses this year… because that’s all you deserve.”
He huffed and puffed and stuck his lip out. He didn’t open the box on his lap. Instead he just stared fearfully at the picture on the front. I suggested he could set it up in front of the TV whilst watching Superman The Movie. “Can I just watch the film?” I meekly asked.
“Of course.” I said.
“It’d be nice to get a photo of you playing with it Timothy.” Kathy teased, wielding her camera.
“Ooh is that one of those disc cameras!” I exclaimed. “Is it new?”
Kathy nodded. “A Christmas present to myself.” she said as she handed it to me. Timothy begged me not to take another photograph of him. “Well… if you don’t want to set up your train set, can I at least take one of you holding Florence?” I grinned.
“Please don’t Mum.” he whined.
Save to say, I didn’t insist on taking a photo of him with Florence on his knee, but I did insist on him keeping Florence on his lap whilst we watched the Queen’s Christmas Message and the following movie. For a while, I suspect, he was so completely engrossed in the movie that he appeared to be totally at ease with his dress and his doll. As the end credits rolled, we turned over to watch the end of Meet Me in St Louis. Kathy and I couldn’t help but comment on the old fashioned dresses. “Imagine have to dress like that every day!” she said. I think it was aimed more at me than Timothy but that didn’t stop us from both looking at him and watching him squirm. When the musical extravaganza ended, Kathy gathered her things and prepared to leave. Timothy visibly cringed when she said she’d pop round when she’s had the photographs developed.
No sooner had she left, Timothy asked if he could take his dress off. “It’s a bit early to be getting ready for bed.” I said. Given the choice between wearing his blue dress of his pink nightie, he opted to remain in his dress. “Why don’t you set your train set up?” I suggested.
“I don’t want to.” he grumbled. I pestered him into doing it anyway and thoroughly enjoyed watching the troublesome twelve year old boy quietly assembling a train set designed for a six year old girl. Play Your Cards Right began and I picked up the TV and Radio Times. “Oh… Cinderellas on the other side. Would you like to watch that instead?” I asked.
“No.” I grumbled. “Can I stay up and watch The Pink Panther?” he asked. “Please.” he added.
“Hmm.” I replied, looking down the listings. “It finishes at eleven o’clock… that’s quite late.”
“But it’s Christmas.” he muttered.
“Well… I suppose it’ll be OK on this occasion… but I want you ready for bed before it starts.” I said. “OK?” I asked. He gulped and nodded, knowing that means wearing his new nightie. “There’s another couple of presents…” I said. “…which I didn’t want to give you whilst Kathy was here.” I fetched them from their hiding place in the under stairs cupboard. One is big and bulky, the other, very small. “Don’t get your hopes up Timmy.” I warned him as I sensed his excitement growing. “…this Christmas is about getting things that you deserve rather than want.”
“It’s not more girl stuff is it?” he grumbled.
“Not necessarily.” I replied. I placed the small gift on top of the big one and plonked them both in front of him. He picked up the small one, cautiously flexed it and guessed that it’s a book. He removed the wrapping paper and struggled to pronounce the title. “Pettiquette.” I said. “The etiquette guide for petticoated boys.”
“What’s that?” he nervously gulped as he cast a pair of worried eyes over its cover.
“It’s to help you to learn how to behave yourself.” I told him. “It explains why you shouldn’t let yourself be led astray by unruly boys at school, and why naughty boys have to wear knickers and dresses.”
“I promise I’ll be good from now on.” he snivelled.
“Oh I’m sure you will be.” I replied before prompting him to open the big present.
