The top of the telly...

This has been just a caption for too long...

"Because that photo's embarrassing." I replied.

"Which one?" Mum knowingly asked. "The one from Easter?"

"Yes. I don't want anyone seeing me in a dress."

"You look lovely." she told me.

"But I'm a boy."

"And you still look lovely." my mother reiterated. "Everyone says so."

"Only because I look like a girl." I moaned.

"You look nothing like a girl Matthew." my mother insisted. "There's no reason why boys can't wear dresses every once in a while."

"Apart from the fact that boy's don't wear dresses. I'm the only one I know and I only wore it once."

"Plenty of boys wear dresses Matthew." my mother claimed. "...and the next time there's a suitable occasion, you'll be wearing it again."

"What?! No!" I gulped.

"You were happy enough to wear it at Easter."

"It was so embarrassing!" I recalled. Thankfully the Easter parade was in Denton and not my home town so no one knew me, but Mum made no secret of the fact I was a boy and loads of people were saying how sweet, pretty and lovely I looked. I'm sure loads of people were also thinking how ridiculous I looked too. Not only did I wear a prissy white dress, but also frilly white ankle socks, a pair of girl's white shoes with little heels that clipped and clapped noisily on the pavements, frilly knickers and a lace trimmed slip, and since my dress had no pockets, I also had to carry a dainty white handbag with nothing more than a handkerchief in it.

My mother claimed that I was only embarrassed at first, adding that a new dress always has that effect on people. "You were all smiles for most of the day." she said.

"Only because I didn't know what else to do... I felt like such a sissy." I frowned.

"No one else thought you were a sissy."

"I bet they did!" I insisted. "You're not really going to make me wear it again are you?"

"I didn't buy it for you to wear just the once." Mum replied. "Nice dresses aren't cheap you know."

"But..."

"But nothing Matthew. You've worn it before and it didn't you any harm and it won't hurt to wear it again... in fact it'll do you good."

"How?" I cautiously asked, gulping.

"Well you'll be a teenager in August." she replied.

"No I won't... I'll be twelve."

"Twelve full years." Mum retorted. "After your birthday you'll be in your thirteenth year."

"That doesn't mean I'll be a teenager."

"It does in my book." my mother told me. Perplexed, I asked what being a teenager has got to do with anything. "Because..." my mother began. "...that's when they recommend boys should be petticoated."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you'll be wearing dresses more often than not." she told me, adding that the dress she bought me at Easter was to help ease me in. "You'll have lots more." she added.

"But I'm a boy!" I yelped. "One dress was bad enough!"

"Look at your photograph." she told me. "You've never looked happier."

I can't deny that I'm not smiling gleefully in that photograph. I could claim that the day of the Easter parade, being the first time I'd ever worn a dress, was the worst day of my life, but my mother would claim that that wasn't true. Of course I felt embarrassed, and shy, and bashful, and awkward. But being perched on dainty little heels, wearing a shiny satin dress and being frequently told how nice I looked also made me feel special. It was a weird yet wonderful experience... but not one that I'd readily repeat. "I know but..." I replied to my mother, "...that doesn't mean that I want more dresses!" I insisted. "I'm a boy remember."

"And lots of boys wear dresses." my mother restated.

"No they don't!"

"Petticcoated boys do."

"I don't even know what that means." I retorted. "I've never heard of a petticoated boy."

"Well it's not the sort of thing boys tend to talk to their friends about... but of all you know, lots of boys at school might be petticoated at home." my mother replied. "It's nothing to be afraid of... and your birthday isn't for a couple of months yet, so you've got plenty of time to get used to the idea."

"But what if I don't want to be petticoated?"

"You were happy as Larry at the Easter parade." Mum reminded me, acknowledging that I did initially have a bit of stage fright when faced with the prospect of wearing a dress for the occasion.

"It was more than a bit of stage fright!" I claimed. "Anyway I thought it was just for that day."

"It was... but you honestly didn't think I'd spend all that money on a dress and shoes and knickers and a handbag just to wear once did you?"

"Yeah." I murmured. "If I'd known I'd have to wear it again I'd have had second thoughts."

"How many clothes have I bought you that you've only worn once?"

"Well... apart from that dress... none." I gulped.

"Well there you go." Mum smugly replied. "Maybe you could wear it for the summer fête?" she suggested.

"I don't want to wear it here!" I blurted.

"I suppose you don't." Mum conceded. "Maybe there's a summer fête in Denton or somewhere... in fact... it's cousin Jenny's birthday in a couple of weeks. I wonder if she's having a party."

"I'm not going to wear it for a party!"

"It's essentially a party dress Matthew." my mother told me. "All it needs is a sash and it'll be perfect."

"She'll laugh at me... everyone will!"

"No one laughed at you at the Easter parade."

"They were probably laughing behind my back."

"Now you're just imagining things Matthew." my mother claimed. "No one laughed at you at Easter and no one's going to laugh at you in the future... and after your birthday you'll soon get used to it."

I wished I could believe my mother was teasing me, but her matter-of-fact tone convinced me that she was being absolutely serious. I couldn't help but frown. "I won't have to wear a dress everyday will I?"

"Not everyday." she replied. "But the only boy's clothes you'll be allowed is your school uniform... and even then you'll be wearing knickers and a training bra beneath it."

"A bra?!" I gulped.

"A training bra." she specified, putting a particular emphasis on 'training'.

"Training for what?"

"Petticoat training... it's all part of a new routine to help you through adolescence, which is a tricky time of life for all youngsters."

"By turning me into a girl?!"

"No one's turning you into a girl Matthew." my mother insisted. "But it does involve living like one to a certain extent."

"Why?"

"Because petticoating is good for boys your age."

"How?"

"It stops them from getting too big for their boots and deters them from boisterous behaviour."

"When am I ever boisterous?" I grumpily asked.

"You're not... but plenty of boys are... especially teenage boys."

“But if I have to wear girl's clothes all the time, none of my friends can come round.”

“You haven't invited any friends around for months Matthew.” my mother reminded me.