As the time that Sally’s guests were due to arrive approached, I became increasingly nervous.
I know that I feel nice but fear that I look ridiculous… and with three girls from my school coming,
there’s a very strong chance that by Monday,
my entire year will know that I wore a dress on my birthday.
I’ve been toying with a variety of excuses such as losing a bet or doing it for a dare,
but I guess I’m best just telling the truth:
last year I wanted a paintball party and this year is my sister’s turn to choose.
Problem is,
I can’t see any of my classmates saying
“Oh, fair enough. I’d have done the same.”
My other worry is that the whole truth might slip out:
I didn’t want to wear a dress but when I did, it felt really nice.
Mollie arrives first with her dress in a big bag.
She is herded directly to Sally’s room to change.
The others arrive not long after and are similarly herded directly upstairs.
I’m confined to the kitchen and dining room helping Mum prepare the buffet trays.
“You’ve taken to those shoes like a duck to water,” Mum commented as I grab a stack of plates from one of the high cupboards.
“Well, I have spent all week practicing,” I said as I looked down at my feet.
“I quite like being a little bit taller,” I added.
“So you like them then?”
“Hmm… kind of,” I replied.
“I’d prefer them if they weren’t pink…
but I guess they go with my dress.”
“Well, that’s the idea.” Mum smiled.
“Everything matching,” she says before casting me a lingering smile.
“Don’t tell Sally but I think you look nicer in a dress than she does.”
“No I don’t.” I coyly insisted.
“It does feel nice though…
I can see why Sally likes wearing them.” I added before wondering why the majority of girls don’t.
Mum explained what I already knew;
women wore dresses, heels, and make-up when they were seen as inferior to men and now there’s more equality,
there’s simply no longer a need for women to prettify themselves…
in fact it’s largely frowned upon which is why my sister gets bullied and teased.
“Yeah I know but… maybe if more of them did, they’d realize how nice it is.”
“The same can be said for boys,” Mum replied.
“Girl’s wearing dresses is largely a thing of the past…
maybe it will be the boys who’ll be wearing the dresses in the future?” she suggested.
I couldn’t see it but Mum reminded me that my dress is a boy’s dress that came from a shop full of pretty clothes for boys.
It’s a vision of the future that’s too far-fetched to imagine… but who knows?
On the one hand, I can’t see many boys willingly wearing a dress…
but on the other, that’s exactly what I’m doing.
All of a sudden, Mum realized that she’d forgotten my lipstick.
She popped upstairs the fetch it and returned a moment later.
“It’s the same as my dress,” I said when she revealed the shade.
“It is.” Mum smiled.
“Now you’ve got to remember not to smear it…” she explained as she applied it for me.
“…so no rubbing your mouth or you’ll ruin it.”
“OK.” I replied
. I wanted to see how it looked but… there’s no mirror in the kitchen.
With all the excitement of getting ready, I’d clean forgotten about my new camera.
I grabbed it and asked Mum if she’d take a photograph, just so I could see myself.
“Do I look pretty?” I asked.
“Very.” Mum grinned.
She placed her hand on my puffed sleeve and thumbed my lace-trimmed collar.
“When I was a little girl I’d have loved to wear a dress like this.”
“Didn’t you?”
Mum explained that dresses tended to be plain and functional rather than pretty and prissy.
Only brides and bridesmaids and flower girls got the wear really nice frocks.
Of course, there were ‘girlie’ girls like Sally and fanatics of the Lolita and kawaii fad, but they were few in number.
Like today, most girls and most grown women simply preferred trousers.
The tide was turning even then.
She also explained that when she was a girl,
guests to a birthday party were expected to bring a gift and a greeting card.
I’d never heard of a greeting card so mum explained the concept.
So long as I’ve been alive, only parents buy birthday gifts…
not friends or cousins or even siblings…
and as for the greeting card tradition;
“It sounds like an awful waste of paper,” I claimed.
“Which is precisely why we no longer have them,” Mum replied.
“We also used to have paper party plates,” she claimed.
They used to buy disposable plates to use once and throw away…
surely she’s winding me up?
“Paper cups too,” Mum claimed.
“We were a very wasteful society when I was young.
It’s not like today.” she said.
The impromptu history lesson was interesting.
Sometimes the past is the strangest place.
Meanwhile,
Sally,
Mollie,
Kirsten,
Sarah, and Melanie are busy getting ready upstairs.
I can hear their muffled shrieks and giggles echoing down the stairwell, and before long, their approaching footsteps.
I become increasingly nervous as I hear Sally telling them to stay in the dining room.
She pops her head around the kitchen door and beckons me.
I glance at my mother who gives me a reassuring smile before looking down at myself and stepping forward.
Sally grabs my hand and leads me into the dining room where I’m greeted with an audible gasp…
followed by a long silence.