“Don’t worry.” mum grinned. “The really nice dresses are far too expensive and the affordable ones are far too plain.” she smiled. As usual, Mum wanted to browse around the department stores, and as usual, the assistants approached us and asked if they could help. “No thanks, we’re only looking.” mum respectfully replied. Thankfully, the normal boy’s clothes and the boy’s dresses were in separate sections of the boy’s department. I nervously glanced at the unlucky lads who’d been dragged into ‘that’ section by their mothers. Most looked like they were ready to burst into tears. To my surprise, however, intermingled with the normal boy’s underwear and socks was a wide variety of pink & frilly stuff that sent shivers through me. Alongside the socks were packs of tights and white girlie knee socks, and right next to the pajamas were nighties and girlie PJs. Some of the nighties were trying to be boyish, bearing Ben-10, Star Wars, and Marvel prints, but they were still nighties. Thankfully my mum didn’t give them more than a superficial glance as we wandered through. As we left, I spotted a boy aged about eight or nine, looking positively petrified as his mother held a green gingham school dress against him. I hoped for his sake that she wasn’t planning on actually sending him to school in it!

Our house is relatively close to the town center so transport isn’t needed to get the shopping bags home. As we turned onto our street, we noticed Mark, Andrew’s brother, playing Wallie with a few of his friends against the end terrace. “I hope that ball isn’t annoying Mr Bishop!” Mum said, addressing the group rather than Mark himself.

“He’s gone out.” Mark replied. Seeing kids kicking their football against the side of that house wasn’t unusual. Mr bishop didn’t mind if he was out and we knew no to do it if we know he’s inside. What was unusual was seeing Mark wearing a baby pink t-shirt, a little denim rara skirt and stripy leggings. One of his friends wore a casual cotton dress, but the others all wore normal boy clothes, and none of them seemed bothered in the least.

“Mark looks nice doesn’t he?” Mum said once we were well out of earshot.

“He looks OK I guess, but I wouldn’t like to dress like that,” I replied.

“So you keep telling me.” Mum grinned. “If every boy on this street started wearing skirts or dresses, you’d still be refusing to budge.”

Of course, I’d refuse to budge. If boys want to wear these newfangled fashions, they can. Good luck to them. But I honestly can’t imagine me wanting to wear stuff like that. I cast my mind back to the boy in the store and his mother trying a school dress against him. I imagined being his age and having less say in what I wear than I do now. Thankfully I’m thirteen and a half and Mum lets me make my own choices for the most part.

“Hey up Pete!” Andrew’s familiar voice yelled and dragged me from my thoughts. “Mrs Jackson.” he added. “Is Markdown there?”

“Er… yeah,” I replied as I looked him up and down. “He’s playing Wallie.” I informed him.

“You look nice Andrew.” my mother said. “How’s the hand?” she asked, noticing it was still in a bandage.

“OK,” he replied with a frown. “Apart from the fact I’ve been grounded for a month and aren’t allowed to wear pants unless I’m at school,” he added.

“Oh.” my mother cooed in empathy. “At least pants aren’t the only things boys can wear these days.” she smiled. “I keep wondering when Peter’s going to ask me to buy him a nice skirt or dress.”

“Oh mu-um.” I blushed. I knew she was teasing me, but still.

“’ere, I’d better get going,” Andrew said as he started off down the street. “See ya!”

“Bye Andrew.” My mother replied.

“See you.” I said as he trotted off towards where his brother was playing. He also wore a rara skirt, but his was cotton with flowers on. He also wore a pair of black tights, flat black ballet pumps, and a blue top with a white lacy collar and long see-through sleeves. I said nothing as Mum and I walked the rest of the way to our house.

“Are you not tempted to try a skirt or frock now that your friends are wearing them?” Mum asked as we put the shopping away.

“Nah,” I replied in an instant. “Anyway, Andrew’s only wearing his because he’s been grounded.” I said, “Forgiving Patrick Thistle that black eye.” I added.