Karen's Café

I was only going to post one more story this year and I'm saving that for Christmas.
BUT... since my blog is about to pass the milestone of TWO MILLION page views
I feel it's necessary to give my readers a little something extra to celebrate. 

I've been trying to write this story for several years with varying degrees of failure.
It's one I've really struggled to finish and it's still not finished. This is chapter one.

I hope you enjoy it. I'll work on the second half in the new year. 

~o0o~

My sister Karen is so cool. When I was in my first year of high school, she was in the fifth year and she was the fittest girl in school. All the boys fancied her and some of the girls too. When she was in sixth form everyone admired her all the more; good grades, great looks, superb style. There was nothing that she wasn't good at; art, dance, drama, maths, science, you name it. I thought she'd go into graphic design because she always doodling, but instead she did a degree in management and graduated with a first. When I was in the fifth year Karen got a business start-up grant and opened her own café. This surprised many people because she could have got a great post-grad job in management earning at least £25K a year, but she wanted to put her degree into practice by building a business from scratch. If she makes a success of one café, she'll open another, and another and the long term plan is be the owner/manager of a successful café chain.

There was so much for her to think about... aside from sorting out the rent, rates, insurance and contracts, there's buying or hiring the equipment, planning the menus, hiring staff, buying all the cutlery, crockery, cookware, plus tables and chairs, place-mats, napkins, etc. One of my sister's biggest headaches was deciding what her staff would wear. Such a trivial detail she felt was one of the most important. Well dressed staff are as crucial as a well made meal and an inviting environment. I remember she and Mum and one of her friends spent a whole weekend deciding between thigh or knee length skirts, straight or pleated... with either a white blouse or black top. My sister was adamant that her staff would all wear exactly the same uniform, and for some reason, she didn't want them wearing aprons. “Too old fashioned.” she said when Mum questioned this. “I want them looking distinctive, stylish, casual... in something that doesn't scream uniform.” she explained. She described an all black outfit of a pleated mini skirt, a fitted vest and black tights but definitely not thick ones. “...and I want them all exactly the same.” she said, stating that she doesn't want one wearing 10 denier tights and another in 20 denier. "...and they've got to be black tights, not barely black or nearly black." she insisted. she doesn't want one waitress wearing a box pleated skirt and another with kick pleats... they've all got to be knife pleated. “...and round necked vests, not a camisole or spaghetti straps.” she specified, showing Mum a sketch she'd done.

"I do like your illustrations." Mum smiled. “You'll probably have to provide the uniforms if you're going to be that specific... which will be another expense.” she added.

“I see it as an investment rather than an expense. Dressing the staff is as important as the quality of the food and the decor. Everything has to be considered and that's what will make my café stand out from the others.” my sister explained. I suggested American style diner uniforms because I thought they were cool and a little bit different in our part of the world, but my sister didn't like that idea as it would look like a theme café and people would expect waffles and maple syrup on the menu. “Sassy and stylish is what I want and a little pleated skirt and a nice black vest ticks those boxes.” she replied. "They can provide their own plimsolls and tights and I'll provide the skirts and vests... and probably some modesty shorts because I do want the skirts to be short." she stated.

The café opened in August with a skeleton crew and by October it was busy enough to open day and night, seven days a week. After six successful months, she hit a hurdle which meant she'd be short of staff over the Easter break. She's advertised locally for some temps to cover the four weeks that her student waitresses who worked the evenings and weekend would be away, but hasn't had enough takers, and she really really really needs some help over that period. She turns to me, her fifteen year old brother and asks if I'd be willing to cover the shifts for one of her waitresses.

I'd already been toying with getting a part time job and the extra money would come in handy, so I was more than happy to help out in my sister's café until the students return. I figured my black school trousers and a white shirt would be fine, but my sister said I'd look like a schoolboy without his tie on. “What should I wear then?” I asked. She casually told me that I'd wear the same uniform as the rest of her staff. “I can't wear that.” I replied.

“Why not?” she asked. “You know how finicky I am about my uniforms.”

“I'm happy to help but not if I have to wear the same uniform as your waitresses.”

“But you'd be covering for one of my waitresses. What else did you think you'd wear?”

“Shirt & trousers.” I replied.

“Not in my establishment.” she stated. “It's black shoes, black tights, black skirt and black vest... as well you know.”

“I know that but that's what your waitresses wear.” I said, stressing the 'esses' bit. “I'd be a waiter, surely?”

“Waiter or waitress, the uniform is black shoes, black tights, black skirt and black top.” she reiterated.

“Do you have any waiters?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“You know I don't.” She replied. “Tell you what... Why don't you try the uniform on... see how it feels and then decide?” she said.

“I'd be a lot more concerned with how it looks than feels.” I replied.

“I'm the one who'll be employing you so I'll be deciding if it looks OK or not.” she retorted. “You're the one who'll be wearing it so you need to decide if it feels OK or not.”

I didn't want to, but my very persuasive sister talked me into just giving it a try and the following afternoon she brought one of the uniforms home. I didn't mind the vest at all, but the short black pleated skirt felt too short and I felt too exposed... but after donning a pair of black 15 denier tights, it felt a lot better and the tights felt quite nice, like a second skin. I couldn't keep my hands off them. I stood in front of her floor standing mirror and summed up my reflection. “It looks OK from here.” I said, standing close enough to the mirror so I could only see myself from the shoulders down. “...but from here...” I added, stepping back and bringing my head into view. “...I just look like a boy in a skirt.” I sneered.

“Well... that's what you are.” she said. “I think it looks fine.” she claimed. “Does it feel OK?” she asked. “Does the skirt feel tight?”

“No it's fine.” I said. “It might be a bit short but with tights on it's not so bad.” I told her.

“You'd have to tie your hair back.”

“I'd still look like a boy in a skirt though.” I frowned. I stepped closer to the mirror again. “It looks OK when I can't see my head.”

“I think you wear it well and I can see your head.” she told me. “Honestly Simon you look fine... if you didn't I'd say so... and I certainly wouldn't want you waiting the tables in my café.”

I still wasn't so sure and tried my best to articulate that it's not so much the uniform itself but the boyish head on top of it. I stepped back from the mirror, bringing my head in to view and pulled my mop of hair off my face. “Have you got a bobble?” I asked. “Thanks.” I said. I tied it back but my long fringe was nowhere near long enough, and several strands around the sides weren't quite long enough either

“Here let me.” my sister said. “It just needs to be higher.” she said, tying my hair in a high ponytail and dealing with the straggly bits with a couple of Kirby grips. My fringe stayed where it was and my hair did look quite girlie. “Or...” she said, grabbing a few more Kirby grips. “...we could take your fringe off your face altogether.” she said, pinning it back to reveal my full face. “That's quite nice.” she said. “Can I put some make-up on you?” she asked.

“Make-up?” I gulped.

“Yeah.” she grinned. “I wanna see if I can make you look like a girl.”

“Even if you could I'd still sound like a guy when I’m taking orders.”

“I'm not thinking about the café.” she said, looking me up and down. “I just wanna put some make-up on you.” she grinned. “I bet you'd look well cute.”

“Oh I dunno.” I groaned.

“Oh go on... you've come this far.” she said, looking me up and down, from my stocking feet to my short pleated skirt, vest and hair tied in a high ponytail. “We may as well go all the way.”

My sister has a way of getting me to do what she wants (in a nice way) and it wasn't long before I found myself sat at her dressing table, smearing my face with foundation before she painstakingly painted my eyes. It was painstaking because I couldn't help but flinch when the eye-liner pencil got anywhere near my eyes... but after much perseverance, I learned to relax whilst she painted my face. What surprised me was just how tranquil it felt as the soft foam brush gently swept my eyelids and the tiny bristles of the mascara brush combed through my lashes. She tidied my eyebrows just a little before defining them with a pencil, and finally she painted my lips in a soft, glistening shade of pink. I gasped when I turned to the mirror and saw what she'd done to me. “Wow!” I gulped.

“You like?” my sister asked, grinning proudly.

“Err...” I croaked.

“Stand up... have a proper look in the big mirror.” she suggested.

“OK.” I said. I stood and put myself on front of the mirror. My legs are clad in black fifteen denier nylon that makes them appear longer and thinner than usual. My fingers hovered nervously about the hem of my short pleated skirt. The black vest leaves my exposed arms and shoulders looking slight and weedy... but my face... my face. “I'm glad I didn't make a bet that you couldn't make me look like a girl.” I said as I looked myself up and down. “It's like you've painted a girl's face on top of mine!”

“Is she pretty?” my sister grinned.

“Yeah!” I said, gulping at the reflection.

“I wanna put you in a proper dress and style your hair.”

“As if this skirt and top isn't girlie enough.” I said. “And my hair's already styled isn't it?” I added as I bobbed my head this way and that so I could see the ponytail perched high on my crown. I liked the way it bounced about my head.

My sister didn't spend too much time convincing me into letting her go further with my make-over. She sat me back at her dresser and took to my nails with a file before painting them to match my lipstick. “Is that what you do?” I asked as I waited for my nails to dry. “Match lips and fingernails?”

“Sometimes yeah.” she replied. “Although sometimes I'll match my nails to my handbag or earrings.” she added as she plugged one of her devices into the mains.

“What's that?” I asked.

“It's a hot air styler.”

“What's it do?”

“It smooths, straightens, waves, curls and volumises.” she told me.

“Not permanently though.” I feared.

“Nah... it'll either brush or wash out.” she said as she released my hair from its ponytail and began to run a damp comb through it. I didn't even realise that I was emitting a low lengthy hum until my sister said “You're enjoying this aren't you?”

“I am actually... it's nice having someone comb my hair for me.” I said, before adding “...and paint my nails and do my make-up.”

“Good.” she replied. “I was expecting you to try the uniform for all of thirty seconds and take it off.” she grinned. “Not that I wanted you to do that... I like that you like the tights, they do feel nice.” she said.

I sniggered. “Yeah... I didn't see that coming.” I said. I've barely spent a moment not feeling the nylon on my lap since pulling them on. “It's weird seeing my leg hair all squashed beneath them... I thought they just hid it.”

“Thick ones do.” she told me. “They'd feel much nicer if you shaved your legs.”

“Hmmm.” I mused. “Nah.” I said as she grabbed the hot air styler. “What are you planning on doing with that anyway?” I asked. It looks like a cross between a hairdryer and brush, but there's other attachments and I’ve no idea what any of them do.

“I'm not sure really... I tend to just start brushing and curling and waving and styling and see what happens.” she replied. “Turn to face me than you can't see it 'til I've finished.” she said.

“OK.” I said, shuffling round in the seat. She began pulling the brush through my hair, twisting bits around it then activating the heat blower. I had no idea what she was doing so could only wait patiently as she worked her magic.

I sat for maybe ten or fifteen minutes before she said my hair looked OK. I turned to the mirror to see my former rebellious Ramone cut transformed into a very feminine set of loose waves and curls that seemed to spiral away from my face. I thought it looked girlie when she tied it up in a high pony tail. “Blimey.” I gasped. “I thought I looked hot before!” I exclaimed. “I think I actually fancy me!”

“It's amazing what can be done with a few cosmetics and a hair brush.” she said. “Right... you need a dress next... I've got the perfect one in mind.” she said as she opened her wardrobe and began to rummage. “This one.” she said, removing a satin charcoal grey frock that I'd seen her wear on a couple of occasions.

I gulped at the thought of wearing it. My sister looks fantastic in that dress and I can't imagine I'll do it any justice. “I can't wear that!” I gasped.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Its gorgeous.”

“I know.” she grinned. “Take your vest off... and try not to mess your hair up.”

I took a deep breath before removing the vest and revealing my bare chest. I stood and unfastened the skirt before stepping out of it. I had my own underwear on, plus a pair of her tights so I wasn't shy about my semi state of undress. She held the dress open and I stepped into it. She turned me around and lifted its thin spaghetti straps onto my shoulders, before pulling up its zip fastening. The relatively high cowl neck gave my flat chest some shape and it didn't look like I was missing a cleavage. The fitted bodice hugged my slight frame down to my hips where the mid-thigh length skirt flared out in a skater style. I looked down at myself and liked what I saw. I took a really deep breath before stepping in front of the big mirror.

“Here you are!” our mother's voice said just as I looked at my reflection. “I was beginning to think the house was...” my mother stopped dead in her tracks when her eyes landed on me.

I gulped and bit my lip. “Doesn't he look amazing?” my sister gushed and my mother looked me up and down.

“Care to explain what's going on?!” our mother sternly asked. Her face was like thunder as she tore her eyes from me and cast her gaze toward my sister.

I instantly felt really guilty and sheepishly perched on the dressing table's stool. My sister nervously sat on her bed and by the look on her face, she knew she was in big trouble. Mum remained stern but emitted a sigh. “Well I supposed I’d better sit down too.” she said.

“Erm...” my sister began as Mum glared at her. “... it was all my idea.” she confessed. “I'm a bit short on staff at the café and I was telling Simon that he could do a few shifts for me.. but he'd have to wear the uniform... so we tried that to see how he looked..” she haphazardly explained. “...and he looked great.” she added. “Then I put some make-up on him and did his hair and....” she ran out of breath and paused.

Mum turned her head and looked down her nose at me. “Since when did your staff dress like that?” Mum barked.

“They don't.” my sister replied. “But he looked so good with his hair and make-up done, I just had to put him in a proper dress.” my sister said. “If you'd come home five minutes ago he'd have still been wearing my uniform.”

“And I suppose if I'd returned five minutes later he'd have been wearing stilettos as well.” Mum said as she looked down at my stocking feet. My toes are clearly visible through the thin black nylon.

“Er... not really.” my sister replied. “I'm not sure any of mine would fit him.” she added.

Mum sighed at me and forced a frown. “Well stand up. Let's have a proper look at you.” she said.

I shyly stood as my mother and sister watched my every move. My hair seemed to bounce around my head as I put myself upright, smoothing my frock as I stood. I took a deep breath, lifted my head and gulped. “You look awesome Simon” my sister said.

“You do look very convincing.” my mother added. “And dare I say it... very nice too.”

“Who couldn't in this dress.” I said in trembling tones. I'd hoped the comment would lighten the mood but it was delivered with such fear it had quite the opposite affect. “We were just having a bit of fun Mum.” I said after a moment. “I've no intention of being one of her waitresses, but Karen talked me into just trying the uniform and one thing led to another.”

“Well you'd be a waiter rather than a waitress.” my mother pedantically corrected.

“Either way... I was just trying the uniform and that led onto this.” I said. “Then you walked in.”

“Well it all sounds innocent enough.” Mother said, lightening her tone considerably. “Have either of you eaten?” she asked.

“Err.. no.” Karen Replied. “Have you?”

“No but I fancy a take-away tonight and I was about to ask what you wanted when I noticed it was Simon parading in front of the mirror and not one of your girlfriends Karen”

“Sorry.” I grumbled. I guess it must have been a bit of a shock.

“Oh don't apologise.” Mum smiled, looking me up and down. “What do you fancy?” she asked, listing Chinese, Indian, KFC, pizza, burgers.

“I'm easy I guess.” I replied.

My sister fancied either Chinese or Indian and Mum's casting vote settled us on an Indian take-away. “Come on let's have a look at the menus.” Mum said.

“Just order me a dansak or bhuna.” I said. “I'd best get changed.”

“Oh don't get changed Simon” my sister pleaded. “You've only had it on for five minutes.”

“I wasn't planning on wearing it all evening.” I replied.

“But we've spent at least an hour doing your hair and make-up.” Karen said. “It'd be a waste not to keep it on for a while longer.” she pleaded. “If that's OK with you Mum.” she asked.

“Well I suppose there's no harm in keeping it on... and you really do look very pretty.” Mum replied. I felt myself begin to blush as she she looked me up and down. “I wonder if I've got some shoes that would fit you.” she mused.

“I don't need shoes mum.” I shyly replied. “I'm not planning on going anywhere.”

“I know but some suitable shoes would complete the look.” Mum replied.

Thankfully we didn't go directly to my mother's room and her shoe collection. We went to the kitchen and our collection of take-away menus first. I ordered a lamb rogan josh with a pashwari naan for myself, a chicken jelfrazi with pilau rice for my sister, and a king prawn korma with boiled rice for Mum, plus a plain naan and some poppadoms. “Is it for delivery or collection?” the gent on the phone asked.

“Delivery please.” I replied.

“OK... that's nineteen pounds and seventy pence, and it will be about thirty to forty minutes.” he said.

“That's fine. Thanks.” I said. I hung up and looked at my mother and sister who were both grinning from ear to ear at me. I chuckled. All the while I was making that call, I couldn't help but think about how my voice didn't match my appearance. Mum and Karen were thinking much the same thing.

“Right.” Mum said. “I know it's only a take away but I think we should lay the table.”

“I think me and Mum should dress up too.” Karen said. “I feel under dressed next to you Simon.”

“You can if you want Karen... I've had a busy day and just want to relax.” Mum said before asking me to help lay the table.

I put out the place mats and a tray of condiments; mango chutney, lime pickle and a sweet chilli chutney. Mum quickly made a raita whilst I gathered a handful of knives, forks and spoons and laid them out. Karen returned wearing a cream floral dress and a touch of make up. On her feet is a pair of beige strappy sandals, and dangling from her fingers is several pairs of much darker shoes. “I took the liberty of rooting through your shoes Mum.” she said. “You're a seven right?” she asked me.

“Er... yeah.” I timidly replied. “Couldn't you find any flat shoes?” I asked as my sister placed three pairs of my mother's shoes on the floor.

“Not for a dress like that.” she said, as if it was obvious. “They're not high so you should be OK.” she said.

“They are high!” I grimaced. “And narrow!”

“They're only kitten heels.” she said, insisting I'll be fine

I gulped and glanced at my mother. “Go on.” Mum prompted. “You won't break your ankle.”

“I might twist it though.” I retorted. “Then I'll have to lie about how I twisted it.” I added.

Mum and Karen chuckled and assured me that I wouldn't twist my ankle in a pair of low kitten heels. I tried them and the fit me well and whilst the heels did make me feel a little uneasy, they were OK. I tried the other two pairs on as well, but Karen was right... the kitten heels did look best with my dress. “I mean your dress.” I corrected. Karen grinned at me and could feel myself blushing. “Can you tell I'm blushing under all this make-up?” I asked.

“Not really.” she grinned. “Mum... can you tell that Simon's blushing?” she asked.

“No... why?” Mum asked.

“He just called my dress his dress.”

“It was a slip of the tongue.” I claimed.

“Or wishful thinking.” my sister teased.

“It is nice.” I said as ran my fingers over its silky smooth fabric.

“It's gorgeous.” my mother gushed, before telling me that I wear it well.

“Thanks.” I bashfully replied. “Not as well as Karen does though.” I added.

“You wear it just as well as I do.” Karen complimented.

“Do I 'eck.” I said. “I don't have any...” I gestured to my none existent breasts. “...curves.” I said.

“I think that cowl neck works well with a flat chest.” Mum said. “There's certainly worse dresses a boy could wear.” she added as she cast her eyes over the table. “Are you warming some plates?” she asked.

“They're waiting in the microwave.” I said.

“What about napkins?” she asked.

I didn’t think we'd need any but Mum said we should avoid getting curry on our dresses, so I fetched some napkins. “Are they supposed to be this noisy?” I asked as I crossed the tiled kitchen floor. They quietened a little on the laminate flooring of the dining room.

“Yeah.” my sister replied. “How are they?” she asked as I placed a folded napkin under each set of cutlery.

“Err... OK.” I said. “These little heels do feel quite... rooted.” I said.

“Told you they'd be fine.” Mum replied.

We sat around the table and chatted for a while. I say 'we' sat and chatted. It was mostly Karen telling mum about my make-over; how I kept flinching until I finally relaxed. “It was quite nice being pampered.” I confessed, recalling having my hair done and nails manicured.

“It's always nice being pampered.” Mum said as she admired my face. She told me that my lipstick suits me. I told her that Karen chose it, then felt myself blushing again. “Would you do it again?” Mum asked.

“What? Let Karen talk me into letting her dress me up in her clothes?”

“Well... just dressing up as a woman.” Mum replied.

“Oh I dunno.” I bashfully replied. “It's been a nice experience but...” I tailed off, and thankfully a knock at the door drew everyone's attention away from me. “I'm not answering that.” I stated.

“I'll go.” my sister said. “Where's my purse?” she added before grabbing her handbag.

“I'm glad they only deliver to the door and not the table.” I said to Mum as Karen dealt with the delivery guy.

“I don't think they'd think you were anything other that a pretty young woman.” Mum claimed.

“Yeah... 'til they noticed my flat chest and deep voice.” I dryly replied.

“Pretty young man then.” Mum smugly said as Karen ferried the two carrier bags through. “Here... let me serve.” Mum said, taking the bags from her.

“You sure?” Karen quizzed. Mum said the spices might stain her pale frock and reminded us both of the napkins. Unaccustomed to wearing a dress, I had to ask if I should put the napkin down my top or just on my lap. “It'll be fine on your lap.” Karen grinned.

The take-away was served and as we all tucked in, the conversation thankfully drifted away from my appearance and attire. We talked about Mum's work and my sister's business. We talked about our extended family and plenty of neighbourhood gossip, but all the while I couldn't help but observe myself. The way my hair felt light and bouncy. They way it brushed against my bare shoulders. The sight of my glistening nails each time I tore a piece of naan bread. The unfamiliar height of my knees under the table, perched on a pair of kitten heels and the slight draft through my thin nylon tights. My slinky satin frock occasionally drifted a little on my lap and the thin spaghetti straps dug comfortably and constantly into my shoulders. I could even feel the weight of the mascara on my eyelashes. I imagine what a necklace might feel like, or a pair of dangly earrings similar to those my mother is wearing.

I observe my sister. She certainly suits her pretty dress with its pink blooms scattered across a pale cream background. Like mine she has a cowl neck, only hers is lower and reveals a little of her cleavage. I glance down at my chest and wonder what it might be like to have a pair of my own. That's a discomforting thought so I put it behind me. I look at Karen's hair and imagine mine being that long. My rebellious 'Ramone' cut is long for a boy but it's not 'long'. It's also come a long way from that rebellious Ramone style since Karen took to it with her heated brush thing. Mum's got a short 'middle aged' bob that always looks the same. Karen can wear hers in a different style every day and she often does. “Your hair looks nice like that Karen.” I said when she noticed me looking.

“Thanks.” she said. “All I did was...” She demonstrated how she'd simply grabbed it and gathered, lifted it and twisted it and clipped it to the back of her head with a big plastic hair grip. “It's a quick and easy 'up' do.” she said.

“Did you use your new air styler?” Mum asked.

“I did on Simon's hair.” Karen replied. “It's great. It curls, waves, straightens, dries, sets...” my sister listed.

With both their eyes staring at my hair and I began to feel self conscious. I know I look pretty but without a mirror in front of me, I can't see it. I can feel my make-up though; my slightly weighty eyelashes, slightly sticky lips and the delicate dusting on my cheeks. I tried to imagine how I'd look if I was sat opposite me. I know I look like a girl but what about my mannerisms? Am I eating like a bloke, I wondered. “Sorry what” I said, hearing my mother state my name for a second time.

“I said can I try a bit of your naan bread?” my mother said, possibly for the third time.

“Er.. yes... course.” I replied. My sister bore a bemused smile and asked if I was OK. “Yeah, fine... I was just miles away... I can't help but think just how different I feel all dressed up.” I timidly said.

“He couldn't stop feeling his legs when he put his tights on.” Karen said.

“They do feel nice.” I admitted. “Like a second skin.” I added.

“They'd feel even nicer if you shaved your legs.” my sister said.

“I'm not gonna do that.” I replied. “I might never wear tights again.”

“Well... now you've discovered that women's clothes are quite nice, have you had any more thoughts about helping me out in the café for a few weeks?”

In all the excitement of having my hair and make-up done and wearing a really nice dress, I'd forgotten all about the uniform I'd initially tried on. “Erm... it wouldn't work coz I'm a guy.” I replied.

“I don't have a rule about only employing girls Simon.”

“You have a rule about your employees wearing a very specific uniform though.”

“And you looked great in it.” my sister said.

“I'd like to see how it looks... it'll only take a minute to change.” Mum said. “Me and Karen can clear up here.” she said.

“I thought you wanted me to keep this on for a while.” I said. Mum said I could if wanted too, but reiterated that she would like to see how the waitress uniform looks on me. “OK, I'll put it on later.” I conceded. “...but there's no way I could work as a waiter and wear a waitresses uniform.”

“In this day and age I think it should be perfectly acceptable for a guy to work as a waitress.” my sister said. I wasn't sure if she was being serious or not. She sounded serious.

“I agree.” Mum said. “Aren't we supposed to be living in an age of equality? Aren't we supposed to be putting a stop to gender specific workwear and uniforms?”

“Yeah but... that's about not insisting that women should wear skirts and heels in the office.” I stated. “We discussed that at school a few months ago as part of the social science module.”

“It works both ways Simon.” my sister claimed. “How many boys wore skirts to school last summer?” she asked.

“That's different... that's coz we're not allowed to wear shorts. It was a protest.”

“But boys are allowed to wear skirts.” my sister retorted. “...and didn't the headmaster say that boys are more than welcome to wear skirts if they don't want to wear long pants?”

“Yeah but...”

“Your sister's right Simon... uniform rules can't specify one rule for boys and another for girls, and it doesn't matter if it's a school or a workplace.” Mum said.

“My waitress uniforms are non gender specific.” Karen stated, grinning. “...and if you remember, I did suggest you tried the uniform on to see how it feels and then decide.”

“Yeah.” I cautiously replied. “And it did feel OK.”

“Well there you go then.” Karen smugly replied. “I'm not going to press you for an answer, I'm just asking you to think about it.”

“OK.” I sighed. “But just because it felt nice doesn't mean I want to wear it for work.”

“Like Karen says, have a think.” Mum said. “You have been after a part time job.”

“I know.” I said. “But waitress wasn't exactly at the top of my list.” I chuckled.

Having eaten our fill, Mum cleared the table and Karen washed the dishes. I watched TV but mostly looked at my dress and my nails and felt how nice my tights felt. All the while I tried to imagine working in Karen's café, wearing her uniform and how her staff and customers might react. No one takes much notice at school anymore when a handful of boys protest against the shorts ban and wear skirts for a few hot days in the summer,  so maybe it doesn't really matter in this day and age... plus it'd only be for four weeks and I've got the perfect excuse if anyone asked why I'm dressed as a waitress. I’m just helping my sister out and she has a very strict workwear policy, and believe it of not, the uniform is non gender specific.

I'm soon joined by Mum and Karen. “What you watching?” Karen asked.

“Nothing much.” I said. "I'm not really watching it to be honest."

"Deep in thought?" she knowingly asked. I gulped and nodded.

We sat mostly watching TV and sometimes making small talk. After a while my mother reminded me about her wanting to see me wearing the waitress uniform. "OK." I said, deliberately trying to sound apathetic. I took myself up to my sister's room and removed the dress, putting it on a hanger then looking at my reflection. Tights don't look great without a dress or skirt to conceal the bodice, but my hair and make-up still looked amazing. Once again I donned the short pleated skirt and fitted vest. I faced the mirror and whilst I didn't look as pretty as I did in my sister's dress, I did look like a waitress. I took a deep breath before returning downstairs to present myself.

“Simon you wear that so well.” Mum said.

“He does doesn't he.” my sister agreed as she looked me up and down.

“How does it feel?” Mum asked. “Those skirts are quite short.”

“It feels OK.” I bashfully said as my fingertips hovered timidly around its knife pleated hem. “I am wearing tights.” I added, feeling the fabric for a brief moment.

“I can already imagine you in Karen's café.” Mum said.

“Aren't we forgetting that I'm a boy?” I reminded them. All I can imagine is the bemused glances from my sister's staff and her customers.

“We all know that that doesn't matter.” Mum said. “Not in this day and age.” she added.

“And you clearly like it.” my sister said. “And I am desperate for staff.” she reminded me. “And you did say you needed a part time job.” she added.

“I know but...” I gulped as a hoard of butterflies erupted in my tummy. “What would the punters think?” I asked. “What would your other waitresses think?”

“It's the twenty first century Simon... not the nineteen sixties.” Mum said. “A teenage boy working as a waitress isn't exactly common but it's hardly criminal either... the most anyone will say is 'oh'.”

“But what if my mates find out I’m a waitress of all things?”

“They'll only find out if you tell them.” Karen replied. “I don't see any school boys dining in a classy café of an evening... they'll be in a greasy spoon if anywhere.” she said, before temping me with the seven pound an hour wage.

“How many hours would I have to do?” I asked.

“I'm not sure... about eight or ten a week I guess.” she mused. “And its just over Easter remember... 'til the students come back.”

Earning around sixty quid a week is tempting, I thought... I could buy an awful lot of stuff in a short space of time if I was earning that sort of money. “Would I have to pretend I'm a girl?” I asked. “Because that really wouldn't work.”

“Course not, you'd just have to wear the uniform and work hard.” Karen replied. “Give it a try for one night and see how it goes.” she said. “I promise the other girls will be fine with it.” she insisted, claiming that they're young and liberal. “You might be addressed as 'miss' by some of the customers but that's no big deal.” she added.

“I'll be allowed to wear make-up?” I timidly asked.

“Absolutely.” she told me. “So long as it's natural and not glamorous.”

“What's this?” I asked, referring to my current cosmetic palette.

“It's ideal.” Karen smiled.

I looked at my feet. "Will I have to wear heels?"

"Absolutely not... I insist on all black canvas plimsolls." she said. That was a relief. “So you're game?” she asked. I gulped and said I’d give it a try... for one night. “Oh Simon you're a life saver!” she exclaimed, jumping up and hugging me. “It's so hard getting reliable staff... you'll be perfect, I know you will!” my sister gushed.

“I've only agreed to trial.” I reminded her.

“I know but I know you'll be great... and think of the money!”

“Is this OK with you Mum?” I asked when my sister finally let me go. “I mean... it's not exactly normal for a boy to work as a waitress.”

“You both know that I have no objections whatsoever!” Mum replied. “If you looked ridiculous I would but you honestly don't Simon.” she smiled.

“And it's just for a month?” I asked.

“Yes.” Karen said. “Although when the students break up for summer I might ask you again... providing you pass your trial.” she added. “If you're not a good worker it'll just be one night.” she sternly reminded me. "I expect a lot from my waitresses and you'll be no exception."

“I'm sure he won't let you down Karen.” Mum said. “Won't you Simon?”

I gulped and nodded and wondered what I'd let myself in for. All sorts of second thoughts flooded through my skull but it's too late now. Like it or not, I'll be working at least one shift in my sister's café as a waitress.

The end of the beginning