A couple of weeks later, Peter and his mother are in town and passing Debenhams, his mother points out the window display. “Those dresses look nice.” she says. “Shall we have a look inside?”
“Do we have to?” he asks. To date his mother has bought all his dresses on her own and the last thing Peter wants is to stroll up and down aisles of boy’s dresses with her.
“Well you could do with another one, and it is about time you started making your own choices” she says as she pushes the door open. “I know you don’t always like what I like.”
Peter and his mother walk down numerous aisles of dresses, skirts and blouses. His mother pulls out the usual prissy sissy pink, purple and peach frocks but Peter doesn’t want one of those. “I’ve got loads of party dresses.” he claims.
“Peter you’ve got three.”
“Four.” he corrects.
“Your prairie dress isn’t a party dress.” she tells him, “That’s a summer dress.”
He gives up. Why do mothers come out with stupid ‘splitting hairs’ statements like it’s not lavender it’s lilac. It’s not a party dress, it’s a summer dress… “It’s a DRESS!!! They’re all the same!” he internally rages. But walking down aisles and aisles he realises they’re anything but all the same. Short sleeves, long sleeves, bell sleeves, puffed sleeves or no sleeves at all. Straight, a-line, pleated and circle skirts. Vest tops or spaghetti straps, even strapless frocks in all the colours of the rainbow. Soft cotton or shiny satin, soft velvet, floaty chiffon, Lycra or canvas carrying all kinds of prints. The choice is overwhelming.
Occasionally he points out something he doesn’t mind so much, something really plain… but his mother turns her nose up at them, claiming they’re the types of dresses cleaners wear. “I want you to look nice, not plain.” she says, scanning the racks. “Oh they’ve got school wear here. Maybe it is time you started wearing a skirt.” she said, admiring the selection of a-line, knife pleated and box pleated skirts in black, blue, grey and green.
“I don’t want to mum.” Peter replies as his mother lifts a short pleated skirt from the hook.
“You’re going to have to at some point love… surely most boys in your class are wearing skirts by now.”
Peter tells her that still less than half the boys in his class are wearing skirts, so she asks him how many. “Er…. six wear them and seven don’t.”
“Well that’s near enough for me.” she says as she holds the skirt against him. “come on, lets see how it looks.”
“Oh please don’t mum… please!” he pleads as she heads towards the changing rooms.
“Oh stop being a baby Peter. I’m sure Michael didn’t play up like this when he got his first school skirt.”
Peter concedes. His mother waits outside the changing room, looking at the nearby styles whilst he tries on the skirt. After a few minutes she asks if he’s ready yet and peeps around the curtain. Peter is just fastening the zip. He’s decent enough so his mother pulls the curtain wide open. “That looks nice.” she says, ramming her fingers down the waistband to make sure it’s got some growing room.
“Mum can you close that!” Peter snaps, trying to shut the curtain.
“Well there’s not enough room for both of us and I want to make sure it’s right.” his mother replies, opening the curtain as wide as possible. She steps back and says “That looks long enough don’t you think?”
Peter looks in the mirror and says it’s really short.
“It’s a school skirt Peter, it’s supposed to be short.” his mother states.
“But…” Peter looks at his reflection again and sways his hips. The pleats swoosh from one side to the other. He turns to look at the back a sways his hips again. “…people might see my undies…” he says fearfully.
“Well you’ll just have to make sure you don’t wiggle your hips like that.” his mother grins. She tells him to take it off and draws the curtain again.
Peter wastes no time in removing the skirt and fiddles to clip it back on to the hanger. Just as he’s done it, the curtain opens again. “Mu-um!”
“Let’s see how this fits.” she says, passing him a dress she’s found.
“I don’t like it.” he says as she passes him a green frock.
“Don’t give me that Peter you pointed it out before.” his mother states. “There’s beige or blue if you prefer.” she says, drawing his attention to the rack dead opposite the changing room.
Peter looks at the one in his hand, then to the rack. “Er… this’ll do.” he gulps. He did after all point it out earlier, but it was supposedly too ‘domestic’ for his mother.
His mother takes the school skirt before closing the curtain. Whilst she’s waiting, an assistant approaches and asks if she needs any help. She tells her that her son is trying on a dress, and that she’s buying him a school skirt. “They’re on 3 for 2, as are the blouses.” the assistant says.
“Oh I didn’t realise.” his mother replies. “I’ll go and get some more when he’s changed.”
The assistant offers to get them for her. “Does he need blouses too?” she asks before conforming the size. When the assistant returns, the changing room curtain is wide open once more and Peter is turning this way and that so his mother can get a good look at the dress. “It’s a very popular dress that.” the assistant says. “Most boys prefer a shirt style frock to the back fastening ones.”
His mother turns to the assistant and smiles. “I must admit it looks much nicer on…. do you like it Peter?” she asks
“Er….” he groans, looking back at his reflection. On the one hand he hates it purely because it’s a dress, but on the other hand it’s far better than his other four dresses. He’s ashamed to admit it but says “It’s OK I guess.” he replies. “At least I can fasten it myself and it’s got pockets.” he adds, plunging his fists into them.
“Well in that case we’ll take it.” his mother smiles. “Take it off Peter then I can pay for it.”
“He can keep it on if he likes.” the assistant suggests. “We try to encourage our boys to leave the store wearing their purchases, so much so much so we offer a third off.”
“A third!” his mother quizzes. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Please don’t mum.” Peter asks in utter horror.
“I thought you liked it?” his mother asks.
“I don’t want to wear it now though.” Peter gulps, glancing vaguely towards the outside world. “…and definitely not out there.”
“But it’s 33% off if you do.” his mother replies. “At £35 it’s quite expensive but at…” Her eyes roll upwards as she does a little mental arithmetic, “…£24 it’s a good buy.”
Peter looks back at his reflection, fearful that he may well end up spending the rest of the afternoon in town wearing it. “But… I can’t wear it with my trainers.” he says. “It’d look silly.”
“Well you could do with some new shoes for school anyway… so you don’t have to wear those.” his mother retorted.
The assistant smiled at the petrified boy, then turned to his mother. “Before you decide I’d better point out that it’s a third off your entire bill, not just the cost of the dress.” she says.
“Oh well in that case.” Peter’s mother says. “Fold up your jeans and jumper Peter… you can keep it on.”
Peter cannot believe this is happening. “Oh please mum no!” he begs.
The overly helpful assistant offers to take his three skirts and three blouses to the till whilst they ‘have a chat’.
“Thank you very much.” his mother smiles as the assistant takes the handful of hangers. “Think about it Peter…” she says before listing her purchases so far and approximating the cost. “and you’ll need underwear, socks, tights…”
“I’m not wearing tights mum.”
“You say that now but come autumn you’ll thank me.” she replies knowingly as his heart visibly sinks to his stomach. “I know it’s a big step love, but it’s hardly the first time you’ve worn a dress in public.”
“I’ve not worn one in the middle of town though… on a Saturday afternoon.” he groans.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” his mother replies. Before long they’re in the footwear department. “Is there anything you like?” his mother asks.
“Er… I dunno.” he replies, scanning shelves of heeled shoes with bows and buckles and straps and… “Those maybe.” he says, pointing out a pair of plain lace up shoes.
“They’re more or less the same as the ones you’ve got.” his mother replies. “What about these? They’ll go nice with your uniform and your dresses.” she says picking up a pair of flat T-bar sandals, “Or these Mary Jane’s are nice.” she adds, picking up a similar style but with a heel.
“Er… I dunno.” he replies. “I don’t want heels.”
“They’re only an inch or two high and Michael wears heels.” his mother says before asking the assistant of the shoe department to bring him a pair of each to try. Whilst they’re waiting his mother grabs a selection of white socks and opaque black tights. Peter tries on both pairs of shoes and his mother decides to buy him both pairs. Given the option of which he’d like to wear, he chooses the flats as he knows even a low heel is hard to walk in. “Do you mind if he puts a pair of these on now?” his mother asks the assistant, regarding a five pack of white ankle socks.
“Not at all.” the assistant replies with a smile.
Peter’s mother isn’t surprised when complains about the socks. “Can’t I have plain ones?” he moans when he realises they have a subtle rose pattern in the knit.
Before long, Peter and his mother are leaving Debenhams and for the first time in his life, Peter walks down the high street wearing a dress. He tries to keep his head down as people turn and look at him. In spite of the fact that boys wearing dresses is becoming an increasingly common sight, it’s a phenomenon that continues to turn heads. Peter wishes the ground would swallow him whole when people comment on his dress. The only thing he has to be thankful of is the fact he’s wearing a plainish knee length shirt dress with a normal collar and buttons down the front and not one of the really prissy dresses his mother would have chosen.
When they finally arrive home, she asks him if he’d like to try his new uniform on. Peter declines the offer, which his mother interprets as him wanting to keep his new dress on. Together they hang his new uniform in his wardrobe, and much to Peter’s disappointment, she removes his old trousers and shirts. “Mum… seeing as it’s the end of term in a couple of weeks, can I keep my school trousers ’til then?”
“No.” his mother replied.
“Ohhh why not!?” he moaned as she folds his old plain shirts and trousers into a small neat pile.
“Because I’ve just spent a fortune on your new uniform and I’m not going to wait two months before I see you wearing it.”
In a futile attempt to wangle a few more weeks in pants, he says, “Well I’ll try it on now then.”
“Well you can if you want but that won’t change anything.” she states. “I don’t know why you insist on dressing like a girl… from Monday you will be going to school dressed as a boy and that’s the last I want to hear about it.”