Mel and I glanced at each other and rolled our eyes. “Time to get back in to character.” I grinned. We sat in a circle and got giggly as the cheesy music began and the parcel was passed from hand to hand. Not a single one of us would have played this lame game since we were about six year’s old, but as the music unexpectedly stopped and each layer came off, the tension built and we all got quite excited. Is this the last layer or isn’t it? “Nooo!” Around again. When the gift was finally revealed; it was so cheap and so lame and so very girlie that it was comical. It was obvious that the game was rigged since each of us removed the final layer in one of the six rounds. Sarah proudly wore the plastic tiara she’d won. Melanie wore plastic clip on earrings and a plastic ‘princess’ necklace. Sally waved a fluffy magic wand whilst Mollie donned pastel pink rings and a plastic pink bracelet. Kirsten won some tacky plastic jewellery too, and I, like Sarah wore a plastic tiara. We all played along and pretended to ‘love’ our prizes, and we all genuinely enjoyed playing pass-the-parcel! Now that was unexpected. Sally gave Mum her camera and arranged us all in a line; Sally, myself, Melanie, Sarah, Kirsten and Mollie. We slung our arms around each other’s shoulders and smiled, grinned and giggled whilst Mum took a few snaps of us wearing our party outfits and tacky pass-the-parcel prizes. I couldn’t help but feel more than just a little bit excited.
The carpet was covered in discarded wrapping and the lengths of ribbon that held each in place. Sarah and I volunteered to clear them up and as we did so, she commented on my shoes, or more specifically their 2½” heel and how well I walk in them. “They’re OK once you get used to them.” I replied. “Don’t you have any?”
Sarah shook her head. “My mum says things like dresses, make-up and high heels are a symbol of subservience so I’m not allowed any.” she told me. “I’d like some though… I think they look nice.”
“I don’t like the look of them much… they go with my dress but…”
“I mean heels in general.” she interrupted. “I could do with being a few inches taller.” she added, being by far the shortest of us.
“Yeah.” I smiled. “It’s a bit weird taking them off and all of a sudden being shorter.” I said as we stepped from one sheet of wrapping to the next, picking them up and rolling them up ready for the next time they’ll conceal a gift. “It’s hard to believe people used to use wrapping sheets once and throw them away.” she commented.
“Mum said that for parties like this, they used to buy disposable everything; plates, cups, knifes, forks, baking sheets, table clothes… even balloons!”
“It’s mad how things used to be.” she said as she passed me the rolls of wrapping sheets she’d gathered.
I added them to my bundle. “Thanks.” I smiled. “Do you really think boys will be dressing like this in the future?”
“I dunno.” she shrugged. “Plenty already do in the far east.”
I put the wrapping sheets away whilst Mum lit the candles on our cake. After a chorus of Happy birthday, Sally and I blew the candles out together and hugged each other (we do this every year) whilst receiving three cheers from our guests. “I’m having a great day.” she whispered in my ear. “Thank you!”
“Me too.” I replied under my breath. “Just don’t tell my friends!”
We let each other go and rejoined our guests. Mum began cutting the cake and handed the slices out on reusable plastic plates. I gravitated towards Sarah. Maybe it was a tiara thing. I admired her outfit; a pink frock with big white spots and a halter neck. Her legs are clad in patterned white tights and on her feet, a pair of Sally’s ballerina style shoes, with bows on the toes. “You should have borrowed a pair of heels.” I suggested. “Sally’s got plenty of pairs.”
“I know… I really wanted to but… I got a bit scared.” she replied. “They do look daunting to walk in.”
“They are at first.” I said. “I’m just about getting used to them now.” I replied. I cast my mind back to our previous chat when she mentioned her mother’s opinion of dresses and make-up and asked if her mother minded her coming to a ‘girlie’ party and wearing these supposed symbols of subservience.
“I didn’t tell her what kind of party it was.” she replied. “Mum’d go bananas if she knew.” she added. “She’d be impressed with you though.”
“Me.” I bashfully asked. “Why?”
“Because she thinks that what’s happened in the far east is natural progression. We’ve moved from a patriarchy to gender neutrality and now that’s run its course, things are swinging the other way.” Sarah replied. “Well… they are in Japan and Korea.” she claimed. She described an article she’d read in a woman’s digi-mag and apparently in many Japanese and Korean schools, the boys have to wear a seifuku whether they like it or not and the girls all wear trouser suits.
I wasn’t familiar with the word ‘seifuku’, so Sarah described the all too familiar sailor style uniform. “What do they call it?” I asked. “Say-fuk-ooo?”
“It’s more of an ‘uh’ on the end.” she replied. “Anyway… according to the article, plenty of boys work as chambermaids over there [the far east], and it’s common for house-husbands to wear housekeeping dresses.”
“Whether they like it or not?” I presumed.
