Next, I slipped out of my pyjama bottoms and picked up the knickers. I briefly decided to wear my own underpants instead… but knowing full well mum would check, I pulled on the knickers. Like the vest, they have pale blue lace trim on every edge and a tiny blue bow stitched at the centre of the waist band. And like the vest, they fit very snugly and felt like nothing I’d worn before.
The petticoat had no obvious front or back, just an elasticated waist band. I stepped into it and pulled it up to my waist. I looked down and could no longer see my legs or feet for its masses of layers, folds and pleats. It floated around me and caressed my thighs. I knew there and then that this was one garment one could not forget they were wearing. As I unzipped the dress, I figured that it, on it’s own wouldn’t be so bad… it’s all the paraphernalia that goes with it. “Er….” I hesitated before pulling on the dress. The zip is on the back so how I’m supposed to fasten it I’ve no idea. Some minutes later, I’d managed to get it no more than a few inches up when I heard a knock on my door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me.” said my sister from behind the door. “I need help…” she paused, “…with my zip.”
I opened my door and Susan stepped in, looking far more embarrassed than I felt. “I feel like a six year old girl in this.” she moaned.
“Me too.” I replied. I expected her to burst out laughing at me but she didn’t. She fastened up my zip and I asked her why they went up the back instead of up the front.
“Because otherwise you’d be able to take it off.” she replied as she tied the wide satin sash in a bow behind my back. “…and when a dress is this bad…” she said with conviction, “they make sure you can’t take it off.” she added as I pulled up her zip.
“So we’re both trapped.” I asked.
“Yep!” Said Susan as she turned to face me. She smiled a reassuring smile before looking me up and down. “Peter you haven’t put your tights on!”
“I er…” I felt flummoxed, “…I was going to put them on next.”
“You might find that difficult with your petticoat.” Susan replied.
She was right of course, so I pulled off my petticoat which let my dress fall to it’s natural ‘hang’, sat on my bed and, being a novice, I followed my sister’s instructions. Once my tights were on, I stood up and looked down at myself. “How bad do I look?”
“Well… not too bad for a boy.” Susan smiled, “….at least you don’t look like a meringue.” she added, looking down at herself.
“You don’t look like a boy in a dress either.” I said as I pulled on my petticoat and looked down. “I still can’t believe we have to dress like this all day?”
“And pretend we like it!” Susan added.
As we entered the sitting room, mum gasped and bit her bottom lip. “Oh look at you two!” she gushed. “You look gorgeous!”
“I feel like a six year old.” Susan stated, sounding completely disheartened.
“I feel like a girl.” I added, equally disheartened.
“Well I think you look great in it… how does it feel?” Mum asked.
“Erm…” I pondered. I swished my hips and looked down at myself. “Weird.” I replied turning to my sister. “At least I don’t look like a meringue.” I teased.
Mum spent a moment looking at us and grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I’ve got to take a photo.”
“Oh mu-um.” we moaned in unison.
She assured us that she’d show no-one as she unzipped her camera case.
“Oh please mum.” I begged. “I think this situation is best kept as a memory… a distant one!”
I was impressed by my reasoning, but mum was having none of it. She helped me into my shoes before making my sister and I pose by the tree holding our little satin handbags as she took photo after photo until she was satisfied we looked ‘happy’.
We spent the next hour or so rummaging through our gifts. I’d been given several model aeroplanes, books and annuals, CDs and DVDs, a couple of video games, some clothes (boys, thankfully) a variety of gadgets and puzzles. Every single one was a hundred times more boyish than the gifts I was wearing. I felt out of place reading my Top Gear annual or flicking through the instructions of my model kits. I assembled a formula one racing car model which required no glueing and in spite of loving model kits, it just didn’t feel right wearing a dress, a petticoat, tights and heels.
