My sister and I are twins.
We’re fraternal twins,
not identical twins,
but the number of people who ask if we are identical is beyond belief!
The fact that we don’t look identical should be a clue
but no,
people have to ask.
Being twins, our birthday celebrations have always been a joint affair.
Last year I suggested we go paint-balling and Sally thought it was a great idea.
I invited two of my friends and she invited two of hers
All six of us donned the camouflage and took up arms before taking part in battles,
skirmishes,
campaigns
and missions.
The photograph was taken before the first battle.
It didn’t take long for our outfits to be covered in numerous splats of red,
yellow,
green and blue paint.
We all had a great time and talked about it for weeks afterward.
This year, I suggested we have another paintball party,
but Sally wasn’t keen for two reasons.
One; doing the same thing again is boring and unimaginative.
Two; it’s her turn to think of something.
Fair enough, I thought.
Although she didn’t have any firm ideas beyond going to the cinema or maybe the bowling alley.
Sally finally decided that she wanted a ‘traditional’ party at home with a few friends,
a birthday buffet and plenty of party games.
I thought it sounded boring and unimaginative (and a little bit childish)
but it’s her turn to choose so… whatever
“Yeah but…”
“…and this year it’s Sally’s turn to choose.”
“Yeah but…”
“But what Peter?”
I gulped and looked at the dress.
“You are kidding aren’t you?”
I grinned knowingly.
I knew she was kidding.
She has to be… surely?
“No Peter… Sally wants a party with a pink theme and she’s always been a girlie girl
so she wants all the guests to wear pretty pink dresses.” my mother stated.
“Have you thought about who to invite?”
“Well… I was gonna ask Jordan and Mark again but…” I gulped.
“You are having me on… surely you don’t seriously expect me to wear a dress?
It is my birthday too you know!”
“I know it is, but as you know, it’s Sally’s turn to choose how to celebrate.” my mother reiterated.
“Now I understand if you don’t want to invite any of your friends, but that is up to you.” she said.
“But let me know sooner rather than later because if not,
Sally can invite four friends instead of two.”
“Tell her she can invite five… coz I’m not coming.”
“Oh don’t be like that Peter.
Sally did what you wanted last year.”
“Yeah but that was fun.”
“This’ll be fun.” my mother claimed.
“She’s put a lot of effort into planning the party games.”
Sally had mentioned her ideas which included pass-the-parcel,
musical statues,
pin the tail on the donkey,
blindman’s buff.
“It sounds like a kid’s party,” I grumbled.
“We’ll be fourteen,” I stated. “And I’m definitely not wearing a dress!”
“Well… I’ve bought it now,” Mum replied.
“It wasn’t cheap and I went all the way to Penton to buy it…”
“Well if you’d asked me first.”
“Sally told you what she had in mind weeks ago and you said ‘fine’.”
“She told she wanted a normal party at home with a buffet and games.” I retorted.
On reflection, maybe she did say something like ‘and we’ll all wear nice dresses,
but I didn’t think for a second that that included me!
I looked into my mother’s eyes.
Into her face.
Into her soul even.
“You’re not kidding are you?”
She slowly yet surely shook her head.
“Oh god.” I groaned.
“Sally’s set her heart on it.” Mum said.
She turned her gaze to the dress.
“Why don’t you try it for size?
See how it feels?
It might not seem so bad once you’ve got it on.”
“I’m sure it’ll seem ten times worse when I’m wearing it,” I replied as I imagined doing just that.
“Well at least try the shoes on.” Mum suggested.
“If they’re too small I’ll have to take them back.”
I cast my reluctant eye over the shoes.
“You could’ve got flat ones.” I groaned as I picked one up for a closer inspection.
“I could… but I didn’t.” my mother replied.
“Here…” she said, reaching out her hand.
“…you take your shoes off and I’ll undo the buckles.”
I passed her the shoe with a trembling hand and untied my laces and slipped off my shoes.
Mum handed me one of the new shoes and I hesitated before pulling it onto my foot.
“It’s a bit tight.”
“Take your socks off,” Mum suggested.
“How’s that?” she asked a moment later.
“Apart from being absolutely vile…” I said. “…it fits.”
Mum passed me the other one.
“Do I have to?” I whined.
“Yes.” she replied. I slipped it on.
“Fasten the buckles.” she insisted.
I fiddled with them and finally got one fastened.
The second buckle was just as fiddly,
but I fastened it and stood up.
“These feel weird,” I said.
“They look nice.” my mother replied before suggesting I walk around a bit.
“Comfy?”
“No,” I said. Mum asked what was wrong with them.
“Well, the heel for a start… and not wearing socks, and the fact they’re pink with bows on,” I replied.
“You’ll be wearing socks on Saturday,” Mum replied
. “…or tights,” she added.
“I’m not gonna wear tights.” I moaned.
“Socks then.” Mum shrugged.
“You might find it easier if you don’t look at your feet,” she suggested as I slowly paced up and down the kitchen.
“Head up, shoulders back… imagine the heel is an extension of your leg,” she advised.
“I’m gonna feel like a right prannock trying to walk in these.” I moaned.
“Well you’ve got a few days to get used to them,” she said.
“Do you want to try the dress on?”
“No!” I yelped as she removed it from the chair over which it’d been slung, held it up and admired it.
“I can’t believe you bought me that and expect me to wear it.”
“Would you have rather chosen your own?”
I briefly imagine shopping for a dress. “No.” I groaned.
“But if I had I wouldn’t have chosen a Lolita dress.”
Mum made a comment about my fashion knowledge and I pointed out that the Lolita style isn’t exactly fashionable.
“Anyway, this isn’t a Lolita dress.” she claimed.
“It’s a Brolita dress… specially made for boys,”
she informed me as a smug grin swept her face.