Author Topic: Damsel in this dress  (Read 811 times)

Offline David

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Damsel in this dress
« on: March 10, 2007, 11:41:44 AM »
SOME sights in life you are prepared for. Others catch you completely off your guard.

The last time I saw my 15-year-old daughter in a dress was on Christmas Day about 12 years ago.

I can remember it like it was yesterday.

She was in tears; Mrs S was in tears and it was clear that all was not well.

The upshot was that she didn't want to wear it, indeed she wouldn't wear it, and she has pretty much steered clear of anything that doesn't fall into the category of "trouser" ever since.

She refused, for instance, to wear a female bathing suit until nature – and her teacher – made it quite clear that swimming trunks were no longer an option.

A smart trouser suit was the best we could manage from her at a family wedding a couple of years ago.

She is at her happiest in a pair of football shorts, raiding down the left wing for Leeds United Ladies Under-16s and West Yorkshire Schools.

But slowly, gradually, there has been a process of feminisation going on.

And it all culminated in a wonderful vision this week.

 There is currently much excitement among her and her school friends as they plan for the Prom night which will signal the end of their time at what we used to call "secondary school" and is now, in modern speak, known as a "business and enterprise college".

The stretch limo has already been booked as, apparently, dad's taxi is not a suitable vehicle at such an important time.

But the subject of a Prom dress, until last week, had still to be tackled.

Would she get one? Would she wear one?

I have to admit I had my doubts.

And then she came back from a shopping trip with her mum and the question was answered.

Shed a tear

As she stood in front of me in a beautiful, floaty green dress it was hard not to shed a tear.

My tomboy baby was all grown up.

She had accepted her femininity and all that it implied.

And, what's more, she looked quite at ease with what she was wearing.

Our younger daughter, a fashion victim since she climbed out of her pushchair, struggled to come to terms with her sister's transformation.

She, too, I think was in a mild state of shock.

Or maybe she was worrying that someone would soon be after her make-up.

"It's lovely," I said. "How much did it cost?"

Eldest and her mum looked at each other.

"£200," they chimed in unison.

"No, go on," I said. "How much did it cost?"

"£200." A bit louder this time.

"You're joking!" I said.

They weren't.

"Grandad did say he'd buy you the dress, didn't he?" I checked, my heart momentarily skipping a beat.

They nodded.

I felt sorry for grandad, currently sunning himself on some Caribbean isle with no idea of what will greet him on his return.

I think he, like I, probably thinks you can pick up a Prom dress for around fifty quid.

Having said that, I know when he sees her wearing it, his heart will melt just like mine.

There's just one small black cloud on the horizon though.

"You'll need to wear make up with it, you know," I told her as we drove to a football match the other day.

"You know, a bit of lippy, eye-shadow, maybe French nails." (as if I'm an expert..)

She looked at me with a far from encouraging expression.

"No you will," I went on. "You can't wear a dress like that and not go for the full effect."

I could see her mulling this one over, carefully, in her mind.

I reckon she will, in the end. We've crossed the major bridge already.

I just hope her choice in footwear will be something a bit more elegant than football boots.


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