
The routine went on all week. I’d wake up wearing either a nightie or girlie pyjamas, go to school wearing my boy’s uniform over girl’s underwear, come home, change into the girls uniform for an hour or so, then wear whatever Mum had laid out for me until bedtime. The outfits she chose were all horrendous; frilly frocks or flouncy blouses and floaty skirts. I dreaded wearing them all, but the prospect of wearing them seemed better than the prospect of wearing the pink tutu.
The girl’s school uniform is by far the most wearable outfit my mother puts me in, not including my boy’s uniform mind. The plain pleated skirt is easy to wear and the blouse is just a shirt really but with a rounded collar and gathered sleeves. I sit in the parlour doing my homework where I can see the neighbourhood kids playing or just hanging out on the street. Thankfully they can’t see me or what I’m wearing, but I’m constantly fearful that someone might call round and see me wearing my girl’s school uniform.
Some of the other skirts and tops have been OK too I guess… but it’s the dresses I really hate wearing. There’s frocks in my wardrobe with buttons on the front or no buttons at all, but Mum always puts me in something that fastens at the back. I asked her why and she said. “Because they’re harder for you to take off.”
