Mother's Day

*I meant to post this in March... sorry it's late.

It was the Friday afternoon art class and as we all filtered in and took our seats, the teacher announced, “Now children I'm sure you're all aware it's Mother's Day on Sunday... so today we're all going to make Mother's Day cards.” A few of the kids put their hands up and said they'd already bought a Mother's Day card, however the teacher responded by saying there's nothing wrong with giving her two cards. On the board she drew an example which we could copy, or choose another idea.

As we sketched, scribbled and stuck yellow crepe paper to our cards, the teacher checked our progress, asking if we were going to do anything special on Mother's Day. Next to me sat Paul Dobson who just shrugged, claiming nothing special would be happening at his house. The teacher suggested maybe he should help her make lunch or something nice like that. Again he shrugged.

“That's very nice Peter.” she said looking at the gluey yellow mess of crepe paper splodged on my card. “Maybe if we add a little...” she suggested, before mending my mess and creating something which resembled the head of a daffodil. “And will you be doing anything special on mother's day?” she asked.

“Erm...” I hastily replied, “Er.... my Granny will come to visit and she always bakes cakes and scones...”

“That sounds nice... and will you be doing anything special for your mother?” she replied.

“Er....” I gulped. “I'll help granny serve the cakes and scones... and maybe help mum make dinner.”

“Well that's very nice of you.” the teacher replied before moving onto the next desk.

What I didn't tell my teacher is that as usual, I’d spend the whole day wearing a pretty dress whilst pretending to be the daughter my mother never had. Each year mum buys me a new dress and each year she makes such a fuss over it. This year's monstrosity has been hanging in my room all week and I'm dreading having to wear it.


When I was about six years old I didn't mind so much. Nor did it bother me when I was seven or eight as mum would treat me very differently when I'm a 'girl'. I used to love all the attention my mother gave me when I wore the short pretty dresses she'd brought me. But now I'm twelve I'm far less enthusiastic. There's a section of my mother's wardrobe where she keeps all of my Mother's Day dresses; currently it's home to six monstrosities in yellow gingham, pink satin, lilac, blue, peach and plum. The styles change little but the sizes do.

A couple of the girl's in my class live on my street and occasionally I see them wearing their Sunday best; mostly plainish pretty frocks which are perfectly suited to girls aged twelve to thirteen. Mine however are always prissy and sissy, frilly and fussy with big bows and ribbons, a world away from anything a real twelve year old girl would choose to wear.

In previous years' mum just put me in a dress and a pair of girl's shoes. Of course I wore girl's underwear too, but nothing like this! This year she's bought me a baby pink padded bra, matching knickers, an underskirt and a camisole to wear. I questioned why I had to wear 'all this stuff' and mum said it was because I'm 'a big girl now'.

Before I could get dressed however, mum removed all the hair from my body and within twenty minutes I was completely hairless from the neck down. My skin smelled like flowers after my bath, but that didn't stop her from spraying me in perfume after she'd done my make-up. Next came my new 'grown-up' underwear...



Every time I told my mum it felt too weird, having no hair on my legs, wearing make up and a proper girl's bra, she said “Well you're a big girl now Peter and big girl's don't have hairy legs do they?” amongst a number of other excuses. As usual, I went along with it. In spite of being massively humiliating, all I had to do was spend the day dressed as a girl whilst my mother and granny told me how pretty I looked and how nice I would have been if only I'd been born a girl.

This year mum hasn't bought me a party dress. Instead I’ve got a short pleated skirt and a frilly sheer blouse. In theory a skirt and blouse is far more preferable to a little girl's party dress, but it being a baby pink blouse with plenty of frilly embellishments, coupled with a burgundy pleated skirt and a baby pink petticoat... it's by far the most horrendous outfit I’ve ever seen... or worn. 

 *Pictures 'borrowed' and adapted from “I can't remember where”... if this excellent artwork is yours, give me a shout and I'll give you the credit :)


3 comments:

  1. I'm not sure who the artist is but I'm sure they are from Carole Jean's "Art of Petticoat Punushment" website. Oh nice story!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Fantastic story that I wish had happened to me when I was that age.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Glad you enjoyed it... although being outed by a girl from school wouldn't have been much fun :(

      Delete