Mum wanted another photo on the stepping stones. In fact it seemed everybody wanted a photo on the stepping stones which meant a small queue had formed on either side of them. We stopped and sat for a while on the river bank before following the river downstream and back towards Thorpe. We stopped for a pub lunch and afterwards, Julia and I had a game of pool. It was close but as usual, she won. When we got back to the car, Mum asked me if we’d had a nice afternoon. I had but would have preferred it if she’d let me wear ‘normal’ clothes. I cited the little girl who’s ‘outed’ me at the stepping stones as one embarrassing moment. Mum smiled and told me that her mother thought I was a girl. “No she didn’t.” I claimed.

“She did Matty.” Julia interjected. “I heard her saying ‘not all girls have long hair’ to her daughter.”

Whether I’d rather be seen as a boy in girl’s clothes or be mistaken for a girl, I really don’t know. When we arrived home I asked Mum if I could change but she felt that there’s no point. Julia challenged me to a game of swingball and since she’d beat me on the pool table, I felt inclined to settle the score. “Do you really hate wearing girl’s clothes?” she asked as we began.

“Yeah.” I replied, before explaining that I’m ‘kind of’ used to it at school but don’t want to have to wear them the rest of the time as well. “At least she didn’t make me wear a dress today.”

“I bet she makes you wear one tomorrow.” Julia replied.

“I hope not.” I moaned. “What makes you say that anyway?”

“Because when we were sorting out my old clothes, she said something about you having a ‘Sunday dress’.. and tomorrow’s Sunday.” Julia replied.

“Oh.” I whined.

“You’ll get used to it.” Julia told me.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I replied.

“They’re only clothes Matthew.” Julia stated. “Nothing to be afraid of.” she shrugged.

“That’s what Mum keeps saying.” I groaned. I held the swing ball high and prepared to serve. “You ready?”

We played swingball until supper time when Mum called us in. We made the usual small talk as we ate, but in the back of mind was a burning question. “Mum?” I asked. “Do I have to wear a Sunday dress tomorrow?”

“Not necessarily.” Mum replied. “Why do you ask?”

I glanced at my sister and shrugged. “I dunno…”

“You did say he needed a Sunday dress.” Julia added, “When we were sorting out my cast off’s.”

“Yes but that’s just a figure of speech.” Mum replied. “In the olden days people would wear their best clothes on a Sunday because that’s the only day of the week they didn’t have to work. These days a Sunday dress is just a nice dress.”

“So I don’t have to wear one tomorrow?” I asked.

“Well it’d be nice if you did.” mum smiled. “But it’s up to you really.”

Since I’m being given the choice, I’d rather not. But with all the new additions to my wardrobe I have a feeling I’ll be persuaded to wear then sooner rather than later. “Are we going out tomorrow?”

“I haven’t got any plans.” Mum replied before asking us if there’s anything we’d like to do.

“Not really.” I replied. Julia had more of less the same idea as me.

“You could both give me hand clearing out the garage.” Mum suggested.

“OK.” I said. If one thing will guarantee me not having to wear a sodding dress for the day, it’s clearing out the garage.

The following morning we got started on clearing out the garage. We filled the car with the old paint pots and broken flat packed furniture that the previous owners had left behind and took it to the local tip. All the ‘good’ wood we put to one side as that could be burned and Mum sorted all the plant pots and talked dreamily about having a potting shed one day. “Is this going to the tip Mum?” Julia asked, finding an old desk behind all the old chipboard panels.

“Erm…” Mum mused as she wiped the dust from it. “…maybe it’ll fit in Matty’s room.” she said. “You could do with a desk.” she added. The desk was put to one side as we continued loading the car for its second tip run. Mum gave me a damp cloth to wipe the desk down with and I noticed that it has four holes in the top and pointed them out to Mum. “Maybe it had a mirror or something.” she suggested.

“Like this?” Julia said, pulling out an old framed mirror mounted on a stand with a couple of small wooden drawers. Mum picked it up and had a closer look. It has four pegs on the underside and she placed it on the desk and they slotted into the holes perfectly. “It’s a dressing table.” Julia noted.

“It is.” Mum agreed. “It’ll still do for a desk though.” she said, suggesting that my pens and pencils could go in the little drawers. We filled the car and headed off to the tip. On the way back we called into a pie shop and grabbed some lunch. Afterwards, Mum and I manhandled the desk up to my room. Julia followed with the mirror which I suggested wasn’t needed, but both Mum and my sister said it should stay.

“Why?” I asked. “It just makes the desk top smaller.”

“Well you need a dressing table as much as you need a desk Love.” mum replied.

“I need a desk, not a dressing table.” I claimed.

“You will when you start year ten.” Julia stated, reminding me that both girls and boys have to wear make-up for school from year ten onwards.

“That’s ages away.” I stated.

“It’s only eighteen months.” Mum retorted.

We continued sorting, sweeping and clearing the garage until it got to the stage where there was finally room for Mum to fit her car inside. “That’s much better.” Mum said as she admired the clean, orderly garage. “Well done kids.”

Having spent to morning and early afternoon clearing the dusty garage, both my sister and I were in need of a shower and a change of clothes. I returned to my room wearing my bathrobe and found Mum giving my ‘desk’ an application of furniture polish. “It looks as good as new now.” she said. Apart from a few light scratches it’s in pristine condition. The top and drawer fronts have some intricate marquetry and the legs and mirror stands are all scrolled. It’s both elegant and feminine. I opened my underwear drawer to grab a clean pair of knickers, but the drawer was empty. “I’ve put them in here.” Mum told me, opening the drawers on the side of the dressing table to reveal one with my knickers in, one with my bras and one with my socks inside. She took the liberty of handing me a pair of knickers and one of my sisters old training bras.

“Oh do I have to wear a bra mum?” I asked in a whiny voice.

“Well there’s no point having them if you’re not going to wear them.”

“But…” I began.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I moaned. “You know I don’t want all this girlie stuff but it doesn’t matter what I want.”

“It’s for the best Matthew.” Mum replied. “There’s been plenty of studies and they all show that petticoated boys work harder at school and are less disruptive.”

“I know but… now I have to dress as a girl at home too.” I said. “I feel like I’m being punished for something I haven’t done.”

“It’s not a punishment Matty.” Mum insisted as she sat besides me. “Far from it.” she stated as she put her arm around my shoulder. “Petticoating expands your horizons. It gives you more, not less…”

“More girl stuff!” I abruptly interjected.

“Exactly.” Mum replied. “Girls have been encouraged to do boy things for decades… now it’s your turn to try some girl things.” she told me. “You should think yourself lucky that you’re getting opportunities that most boys don’t have.”

Mum and I have had this conversation numerous times since it was revealed that I’d be attending a ‘mixed’ girl’s school. All she can see is the positive aspect whilst I can’t help but see the negatives. “I wonder what my friends back in Ashford would think if they knew?”

“I expect they’d think like a typical boy would.” Mum replied. “They’d most likely laugh and call you names.”

“Exactly!”

“But given the opportunity…” Mum continued, “…they’d soon realise that it’s not as bad as they think.”

“You reckon?”

“I do.” Mum replied. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if your old school adopts educational petticoating within the next two or three years.” she suggested.

This, I reluctantly agree with. Ashford Academy was one of the first schools to adopt EP in recent years and since then, more and more high schools have adopted the practice. I explained to my mother that I don’t mind being petticoated at school so much, “…it’s just the rest of the time I don’t like.”

“Oh you’ll get used to it.” Mum assured. She pulled me in and hugged me close. I hugged her back. Mum released her grip and asked me if I was going wear something ‘nice’ for the rest of the day, “…or are you going to be a boring old stick in the mud?”

“I dunno.” I replied. “I suppose I should wear something ‘nice’… if that’s what you want.”

I spent the rest of the day wearing my sisters old long sleeved CND T shirt and a knee length denim skirt. On my feet I wore white ankle socks and my trusty old trainers. In comparison to my boy clothes the outfit felt uncomfortable, but compared to my school uniform the longer casual skirt and boyish top felt OK. I think I preferred yesterday’s shorts and leggings though.