I gulped as I looked at the big pile of rags on the coffee table and knew exactly what Mum had in mind. I cast my mind back to when he first became Sophie and Mum made him get ready for bed early too. At least I don’t have to wear a nightie, I thought as Mum began separating my hair and started wrapping it, strand by strand in the rags. The whole process took a good hour, and to add insult to injury, Mum stretched a pink hairnet over my head and said “There you are.” as she patted my shoulders.
I got up from the floor and sat in my usual arm chair. Curling my legs beneath myself, I felt very sheepish as Peter cast me a reassuring smile. I smiled back and glanced upwards. “I don’t want to think about how I must look.” I gulped.
“It’ll look nice tomorrow.” Peter said, “When it’s all curly.”
“You think?” I asked. Peter had had his hair put in rags on many occasions when he was a girl, but for me it’s a first. I’d had bunches and pony tails, loose angel curls, ribbons, clips and slides but never rags. I haven’t been petticoated since the day I left high school so all this is a bit of a shock to the system… and a blast from the past. Adrenalin swelled in my stomach as I anticipated attending Peter’s graduation, so much so I could barely concentrate on my favourite TV show.
I felt like a seven year old on Christmas Eve as I lay in bed that night. I tossed and turned as a rampant hoard of butterflies fluttered frantically around my stomach. With every movement my hairless skin slid effortlessly in my cotton pyjamas, but my head, clad in a myriad of rags and covered with a hairnet didn’t feel quite so pleasant. I didn’t think I’d ever get to sleep but I must have done.
I was woken when when Mum entered my bedroom. “Come on sleepyhead… we’ve got a big day today.” she said as she cast my curtains open. “Did you sleep OK?” she asked, staring directly at my hairnet.
“Yeah I think so.” I replied as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.
“I can’t wait to see how your hair looks.” Mum grinned. “You’ve never had a proper hair-do before have you?” She said. I guess I knew what she meant, although my mother has ‘done’ my hair on many occasions when petticoating was a regular occurrence. I placed my hands on my head and asked if I should remove the hairnet. “Not just yet.” Mum replied, before telling me that Peter was making us all breakfast.
In the kitchen/dining room, Peter was indeed making breakfast. The table was laid and bacon sizzled in the pan. It was an enjoyable yet nervous breakfast as Mum explained the day’s itinerary. “After breakfast Andrew, you need to have a good body wash and a good close shave, then I’ll do your make-up and nails.” she explained. “Once you’re dressed we’ll take those rags out and do your hair.” she smiled. Peter cast me a reassuring grin. “Are you OK doing your own make-up Peter?” Mum asked him, “Or would you like some help?”
Peter nodded and said “I’ll be OK.”after emptying his mouth. Throughout his fifth and final year at Malham Hall, he’d learnt all about make-up and hair styling at a weekly after school club called PG (short for Personal Grooming). Mum asked him what he was going to do with his hair, which is currently in a shoulder length fringe-less bob style. “I’m just going to tie it back I think.” he replied. “I don’t want to go too overboard because I’ll be wearing a mortar board.” he added.