On Saturday morning my mother insisted that I have a bath before we go into town.
“Why?” I moaned,
not wanting to miss any of the Saturday morning TV more than anything.
“Because we’re going to find you a party dress and you need to be nice and clean,” she replied.
“Today!” I whined.
“Well, when do you suggest?” Mum asked.
“Tomorrow when the shops are shut, or Monday whilst you’re at school?” she suggested.
I would have said ‘never’ but I’ve sighed up to this and I can tell that my mother isn’t going to let me change my mind.
I went up to the bathroom and found the bath already full of fragrant bubbles.
Of course, I complained and said it stank of flowers.
“Like I say…
I want you nice and clean…
not just clean.” Mum said.
“Now come on, jim-jams off and in,” she said as she pushed up her sleeves and dunked a big pink sponge into the water.
“I can do it myself!” I insisted as my mother appeared to be preparing to give me a bath.
My mother said she wanted to make sure that I’m nice and clean, and the minimal fuss method is if she does it.
I felt like a little child as my mother washed and rinsed my hair before scrubbing my arms,
shoulders,
chest,
back and belly with a luffa.
I complained the luffa was hurting me
However Mum said it’s only because I’m not used to having a proper wash.
I couldn’t wait to hide beneath the foam-topped water, where she scrubbed my feet and toes.
Mum rooted beneath the bubbles for the big pink sponge and gave it to me.
“Here, you sponge yourself off,” she said before leaving me alone in the bath.
At least the sponge felt a lot nicer than the luffa did.
In fact, it was very soothing after the vigorous scrub my mother had given me.
I dried myself and got dressed.
I noticed that my skin smelled like the bath did and turned my nose up at it.
Mum asked if I was ready and I asked if I could watch the rest of the Saturday morning TV show I always watched.
“No.” was her reply.
As she drove us to town I felt more than a hint of defiance growing in my belly.
“So what we gonna do?” I grunted. “Go round loads of girl’s shops?”
“Is that what you’d like to do?” Mum asked in a cheerful tone
“No!” I retorted.
“Oh,” Mum replied,
pretending she was disappointed.
“Well, in that case, you’ll be glad to hear that we’re going to a petticoating shop,” she informed me,
With this announcement, she added that only in such a shop would we find some dresses as nice as the ones Peter has.
