Next morning I woke up long before my alarm woke me. The first thing I saw when I turned on the light was my uniform waiting for me. I slipped out of my nightie and pulled on a clean pair of white knickers and a matching bra. I looked at myself in the mirror for a moment before pulling on the blouse, followed by the grey pleated skirt. It was a lot shorter than the old dress was, I noticed. I sat on the edge of my bed, removed a brand new pair of tights from their box and carefully worked them up my legs. Again I checked my reflection, before tucking the blouse into the skirt and making sure everything was straight and presentable. I struggled with the tie the first couple of times I tried to tie it. It was more of a ribbon than a tie in essence. I knew it was to be tied in a double bow but I was all fingers and thumbs! Eventually it looked OK, quite smart actually, I thought.
I selected a silver metal head band and as I did so, I noticed that Cheryl had left the mascara and lips gloss on my dresser. I was tempted to wear a little, but then I recalled Mothers words after Cheryl and I got dressed up on Saturday… “Maybe after school?” I thought.
I slipped on my ballet pumps, had one last look at my new uniform in the mirror and made my way downstairs. Mother was already in the kitchen when I entered. “Hi Mother.” I said.
“Good morning dear.” She replied, “Oh that looks much better!”
I half smiled a thank you.
“Don’t you think?” She asked.
“Erm… Yes of course.” I replied honestly, “I’m so glad I don’t have to wear that old school dress any more!” I added.
“Hmm..” Replied Mother hesitantly, “Well, I still expect you to wear it when you do your chores on the weekend.”
“Oh Mother… must I?” I moaned, hoping I’d seen the last of them.
“Rules are rules Peter.” She reminded.
After breakfast I entered the study and began refreshing myself with where my studies were up to. I noticed how nice my tights felt next to my legs. They also made me feel less exposed. The new skirt was quite short, acceptable I suppose, but had I been wearing socks I’d have been worried about my knickers showing as I sat, bent or reached for something. However wearing thick black tights felt almost like wearing pants… well, more so than just knickers and a skirt anyway.
“Good morning Peter.” Mrs Barnes said as she entered the study at 8.50. “Did you have a nice weekend?” She asked.
“Yes thanks.” I replied.
“Jolly good.” She replied, before giving me a 2nd glance. “Not in uniform today?” She asked with a hint of authority.
“Oh er….. Mother got me a new one.” I stammered, before standing up so she could see I was in fact wearing a uniform.
“Oh yes… I see.” She replied, before nodding an instruction for me to sit.
Obediently I sat, smoothing my skirt under me as I did so. Apart from the first time I met Mrs Barnes, she’s never made any reference to my uniform, or the fact that I’m a boy forced to dress as a girl. I respected her for that, however today I was a little disappointed that she failed to offer an opinion on my new uniform. I prefer it, Mother certainly does, but Mrs Barnes? No idea!
The day plodded on as normal. Mrs Barnes conducted each lesson with her usual emotionless efficiency and I dutifully tried my hardest. When lunch time arrived, Mrs Barnes said with some concern, “Now then Peter… I can see some things have changed a little over the weekend….”
I looked at my knees, knowing what she meant.
“…For the better.” She added, empathising with my shyness. “It’s nice to see a young… er… person making an effort with their appearance…”
I glanced up at her. At last, a complement! I thought.
“However, I’m not sure that bright blue nail varnish is fit for the class room…”
I spread my hand and looked at my nails. “Oh, er… sorry.” I replied.
“That’s OK. You can clean it off in a moment.” She said. “And for future reference, if you wish to wear nail varnish then either clear or pale pink is acceptable. Do you understand?” She asked. “Oh, and no dangley earrings either.” She added
“Yes Miss.” I coyly answered.
“Good. Now run along.” She instructed.
I did as told and removed the nail varnish, before making a light lunch. Mother and Mrs Barnes spent the hour chatting in the study as usual, whilst I sat at the kitchen table and ate lunch.
They both stopped talking as I entered the study. They we’re obviously talking about me. I looked at them both in turn hoping they’d say something, as although brief, this silence was uncomfortable.