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Jane -9- Milkshake
🕑 Added 2019-07-17 13:07:05 +0000 UTC
The restroom in Nordstrom’s turned out to be as deluxe as I had ever seen with a couch in a foyer, several full-length mirrors, and auto-spritzers to keep it smelling good. Mom laughed when I asked if anyone was ever tempted to move in.
From there we went directly to the Girls Department and I cringed only mentally. A mannequin with short curly hair wore a blue skirt with a pink-striped shirt that caught Mom’s eye. “Audrey, what do you think?” she asked, pausing in front of the display.
I wrinkled my nose. “I like that color blue,” I said, trying to find something agreeable.
“It has a touch of purple but it also isn’t so dark,” she noted.
“Uh, huh,” I said. “The shoes are sort of clunky, but in a good way.”
She laughed. “They’re Oxfords but with a buckle instead of laces.” Which would probably mean something to someone else. It turned out I knew nothing from shoes. The terminology was a mystery to me.
I sighed, looking again at the skirt and top. There were two other mannequins wearing variations, green and red skirts, shirts in different color stripes or solids.
Mom had found the rack with the display clothing and pulled out two skirts, then two shirts. “You should try these on for sizes,” she said. I rolled my eyes and she smiled at me. “Audrey?” she said.
I nodded, taking the stack of clothing and looking around for the changing rooms. Other people were beginning to filter into the store and the sales girl coming toward us got hijacked by other customers on the way.
Just as well, I didn’t feel like talking anyway. Mom led the way to the changing booths, she’d been here before, and I went inside. I han’t expected her to follow me.
“Mom!” I protested.
“Hush,” she said. “Are you going to know what you should look for in how a skirt or blouse fits? I’m your mother, we’re both girls, and you don’t have to get naked to change clothes.”
I rolled my eyes again but not where she could see then took off my top and jeans. Mom had taken one of the shirts, a lighter solid blue, though the label said “Periwinkle,” out of the package and removed some of the pins. “Try this one first, if it fits, we won’t need to open the other one.”
I put the shirt on, the backward buttons baffling me for a moment. Mom handed me the blue skirt and I stepped into it, fastening the waistband.
“Tuck in the blouse,” Mom directed.
Blouse. I sighed and did so, turning to look in the mirror. I blinked.
“That suits you,” Mom said. She checked the details of the fit while I stared at my reflection. Somehow, dressed as a girl in a skirt and blouse, I looked more grown-up, less like a little kid. “It’s long enough for the dress code. Do you like it?” she asked.
I shrugged, smiling. “Like is too strong a word but I don’t hate it like I thought I might,” I admitted. I looked nice in the mirror but I wasn’t going to say that. I felt sure that with tall blondes like Rhea in my class, I wasn’t going to stand out in a pretty way but now I knew I didn’t look like a boy wearing a skirt, either. I looked a bit like Beth Ann must have at my age but with short curly hair.
Which reminded me. “Mom, can I have my brush from my bag?” I’d pulled my top off over my head and the side mirror showed me a cowlick sticking out in back. Mom handed the brush over and watched as I tamed the rebel lock. “What?” I said as I put the brush away again.
She had an odd look on her face, amused, maybe. “Let me remove more pins and tags, you can wear this while we shop. You won’t have to fix your hair every time you change tops and you need practice wearing a skirt.”
I made a noise that sounded a bit too much like a squeak, but she was right.
We left the untried clothes on a rack and went back out. Walking in the skirt with it swishing around my legs, totally different from the nightgown, was a new experience. My embarrassment got so bad, I had to close my eyes. You’re a girl, I told myself. Get used to it. Swish, swish, swish.
Mom let me pick out three more, uh, blouses in the same pattern. I chose a blue striped one, a lilac striped one and one with narrower red and black stripes on white.
Mom smirked a bit when I chose the lilac shirt. “Lilac is not pink,” I said. She ust grinned at me, but I’ve always liked all shades of purple.
I didn’t like the other colors of the skirt, green, black and red so we moved on toward the denim department. Green? Barf.
“A nice jeans skirt can be very versatile,” Mom was saying. “And the standard jeans colors will go well with the blouses you picked and the polo shirts you already have.”
“Uh, huh.” I just couldn’t be enthusiastic about picking a skirt.
Mom pushed past a couple of racks of clothes, commenting, “A lot of these would be too short on you. The rules say no more than four inches above the knee.”
I blushed, thinking about wearing a skirt and guys looking at my legs. Pete, in particular, my best friend, was notoriously rude about whether girls should be wearing shorts or mini-skirts. Thinking about Pete and some of the comments I had heard him make ended up making me a little annoyed with him.
I looked down at myself in my new skirt. It wasn’t any of Pete’s business whether a girl had fat thighs or knobby knees, not that I had either of those problems. I discovered I had stopped in front of a rack of skirts with ruffled hems while glaring at an imaginary Pete.
“Do you like those, honey?” Mom asked.
I took a real look. The skirts were made of very light denim, much lighter than any boys’ pants I had ever worn. That might be a lot cooler in the hot days of September. The cut was quite a lot wider than the skirt I was now wearing and there was five or six inches of denim ruffle at the hem. Talk about swishy.
I blinked. But why did I think that would look good on me? I had a picture in my mind and the ruffles seemed to emphasize my legs, making them look long and slender. “I’ve got nice legs, don’t I,” I said out loud.
Mom laughed. “Yes, you do. A bit twiggy, but at your age, that’s very good.”
We ended up with the ruffles and two other denim skirts to try on, with three blouses of different cuts, too. One blouse was a very western style, with shiny buttons and snaps on fake pockets. My dad had a shirt like that and I had a mental image of me wearing my girly version standing next to him.
After visiting the changing room, I did pick the ruffled skirt because my legs looked long and slender below all that sort of bouncy skirt. And in the image of Daddy and me in my mind, I was wearing the fancy denim. He would think I was so cute, and call me punkin.
“Are you getting into this?” Mom asked when I burst into giggles looking at my reflection.
“I dunno,” I admitted. “If I don’t think too much about it, I guess. The girlier the clothes I pick, the less like a boy I look, huh?”
Mom nodded. “Beth Ann’s advice to jump in with both feet looks smarter and smarter,” she observed.
“Okay,” I said, sighing. “Let’s go look at dresses.” Only a tiny bubble of icy dread formed in my throat.
I had changed back to the deep blue skirt and the button up periwinkle blouse, and we left the rest of the stuff we had picked so far at a counter with one of the sales girls, including the tags from the stuff I was wearing and my jeans and teddy-bear polo I came in with. I had on my necklace and my bracelet, too.
I played with the unicorn as we walked through aisles of some of the frou-frou-est little-girl dresses I had ever seen. No way, I kept telling myself, then my arm brushed up against something and I had to stop to look.
It was a dress of course but for a big girl, a girl my age. It was longer than any of the skirts we had chosen and it was made of the softest stuff I had ever touched in my life. I checked the size, but it made no sense. The shirts we had picked out were size 10-12 and this dress was a size 3-4? Maybe dresses had different sizes than shirts?
I pulled it out of the rack and held it up. It was, in fact, cut very like a shirt above the waist with cuffed half-sleeves, a pointed collar, and buttons down the front. It didn’t look much, if any, bigger than the blouse I was wearing. The full skirt hung in folds, soft as anything I could think of.
I held it up higher. “Mom, what is this made of?”
She turned from the rack she was looking for and reached across to feel. “Oh, that’s rayon. Very nice. Funny to see it in a girl’s dress; it feels delicate but it wears like iron and would last for years.”
“I like it,” I said in a voice that sounded funny to me. “I want to try it on.”
“It’s pink,” Mom pointed out.
I shook my head. “The label says the color is called ’Strawberry Milkshake,’ so it isn’t quite pink. Not pinky-pink, it has a little blue in it.”
She laughed at me and I giggled at my own rationalization. I wasn’t even looking to see if there was another dress in a different color. I wanted this one.
Mom came around the rack to get a better look. “Oh,” she said. “It’s not a girl’s dress, 3-4 is a women’s size.” She held it up to measure against me. “It would be very long on you, honey. Mid-calf at least, and the waist might be a bit low?”
“Feel of the cloth, Mom,” I said. “It’s like it’s actually made of milk and cream and strawberries.”
She looked me directly in the face and I bit my lip. “Did you see the price?” she asked.
I nodded. More than any four or five things added together that we had already picked out. I bit my lip.
She read the label. “Dry clean or hand wash. Cool iron only. And it would probably have to be altered to fit you.”
I pointed at a sign. “Free alterations with $50 in purchases.” We were probably going to make that easily. “It’s a perfect dress for wearing to church or a fancy party….” I trailed off. The picture I had of me wearing the dress to some place with lots of people was frightening but exciting, too.
I pushed forward with my reasons. “And you said it’s rayon and will wear forever, so I can get lots of use out of it.” Stop trying to cringe, I told myself.
“If we alter it to fit you now, the way you’re shooting up, you might out grow it in six months.”
“I’ll try real hard to stay skinny and short,” I promised, going for ridiculous.
She laughed and I knew I had won. “Okay, we’ll get the dress if we can get it altered to fit today, and remember, it’s Sunday. But a couple other things….”
“Huh?”
“We’ll get you a wig, until your hair grows out. Your short ‘do would look a bit silly with an elegant dress like that.”
“Really?” I examined the image I had in my mind and realized that Beth Ann’s shoulder length waves would look better than my short curls. “Yeah, I guess. But I can’t wear a wig all the time.”
“Maybe. Also some low heels, 1-1/2 or 2 inch,” she added.
Deeper and deeper.
She went on. “Also, you need nice jewelry for a dress like that. And pierced ears.”
“Ouch,” I said, my hands went to the sides of my head. “Okay.” I really wanted the dress.
Mom stared at me for a moment, then she grinned. “You really want that dress, don’t you?”
“Mom,” I complained. “Yes, I do, and I can’t explain it. I’m embarrassed enough about it, don’t tease me.”
“I wasn’t teasing about the wig,” she said.
I sighed.
“Or the pierced ears,” she added.
I nodded, rolling my eyes. Boys did not get pierced ears, not in my part of California in 1979. We blinked at each other, wrinkling our noses and giggling.
Nordstrom’s was amazing. Not only could they alter the dress on a Sunday in only two hours, but the seamstress said she would do it in such a way it could be altered back if I out grew it. “Such a classic design,” she commented. “You have good taste, young lady. Just bring it back here, and there might be a small charge unless you buy something new.”
I almost promised to do all my shopping at Nordstrom’s but stopped myself in time. I would have but it was eighty miles from home.
We did more shopping in the two hours, there was still lots to do.
They took care of the ear-piercing at the jewelry counter with a little gadget that made a noise like shooting a BB gun. I got two sets of studs with tiny gems, one set lilac and one rose, and some cleaning fluid and instructions. Mom bought me a fake pearl necklace and bracelet set, too. They would go great with my strawberry dress.
We picked out two sundresses, one white with big blue flowers and one a bright cheerful yellow with a lace bib. “You can wear those to school, too,” Mom pointed out. She also picked for me a party dress, purple with glittery details, that was too short to wear to school but looked amazing on me with my curly hair.
I got a denim jacket and a thigh-length sweater the color of blackberry juice; one or the other of them would go with almost anything we’d bought.
Shoes. Shoes I found were a whole ‘nother shopping experience. Picking two pair of opera flats for school, a pair of house slippers, some low-heeled strappy sandals for dress-up, and cowgirl boots to go with all my denim took almost an hour.
Walking in heels was not as hard as it seemed like it should be. I didn’t have any trouble and wore them the rest of the day. Being taller was neat.
I got lots of socks and my first pair of hose, well, two pair, and a new smaller purse to carry to church, and a big white, paper-straw hat with a pink band. I guess I’d given up hating on pink cause I loved how I looked in that hat.
“It’ll be the whipped cream on your strawberry milkshake,” Mom said and we both giggled.
They did have wigs and I ended up wearing one that gave me blond waves down to the middle of my back. Also bangs. I wasn’t sure I liked either of them, they both felt weird, but when I picked up the dress from the seamstress and wore the wig with a hairband the same strawberry color, I decided I looked like the heroine in a Disney movie. I had everything but the dimples.
Before we left, Mom bought something without me while I was in the restroom. Whatever it was, it came in a big box about 20 inches long and nearly a foot on each of the other sides. “Another late birthday present,” she said.
I wore all my finery that I could when we finally headed out. The store closed at five on Sunday and we barely made it out before they locked the door, but Nordstrom’s sent a young man with a cart to carry all our stuff out to the car.
His name was Stephen and I think he was pretending to flirt with me. I had no idea what to say or do about that and Mom thought it was hilarious.
“I bet you have several boyfriends already,” he said, winking at me. “But tell me, do I have a chance?”
All I could do was giggle. I couldn’t wink back because I didn’t know what that would mean and besides, I still don’t know how to wink. Boyfriends? I hadn’t even been thinking of such a thing!
After Stephen left with his cart, Mom showed me how to get into a car while wearing a dress. Basically, you just move your hand under your butt to keep your skirt from wrinkling. I was feeling pretty grown-up in my new clothes but I kept getting the giggles.
We drove through McDonalds on the way back to the freeway and I got a Happy Meal which was kind of like Perky’s Kid’s Favorite Meal since it came with a free toy. Not as cool as Perky’s toy since it was just a cheap plastic bracelet with a Starfleet emblem from the Star Trek movie which hadn’t even come out yet, but the box the food came in had puzzles, riddles and games all over it.
Okay, it was pretty cool.
I think I fell asleep soon after we finished eating and maybe before we got back on the road home. Next thing I remember is Daddy opening the car door and helping me out. I’d forgotten about the wig I was wearing and I had some of it in my mouth.
Daddy stood there smiling at me while I said, “Ptoo,” several times, getting rid of the hair. My brothers were behind him, staring at me. The sun was going down at the western end of the valley and I was standing there pulling the wig out of my mouth like a goof.
“She slept all the way back,” Mom said. She laughed, then called Moose and Junior to come help her unload the trunk. “We spent a ton of money on your sister,” she told them.
“I’m sorry…” I started to say, feeling Dopey and maybe a bit Sleepy and Grumpy, too.
“You’re beautiful, princess,” said Daddy which made me cry so he scooped me up, giving me a kiss on the forehead.
I laid my head on his shoulder and whimpered, all tired and grouchy. I tried to tell him it wasn’t my fault we had spent so much. “Not my idea,” I mumbled, “except for the milkshake.”
“Shh, shh, baby girl,” he said as he carried me inside. The light in my room was all golden with the sunset. He put me down on the bed and went to pull the drapes. “Finish your nap, Audrey,” he said, before closing the door on his way out. “We’ll wake you up in a bit.”
I worried about wrinkling my dress for only a moment before I was out like a light.
Comments
Erin Halfelven at BigCloset
Good insight. Part of Audrey's reactions are based on her practicality and internal acceptance of just what has happened to her. Outwardly she protests, but inwardly, she was aware of some sort of mismatch that is now more congruent. Either that or it was magic. :)
mittfh
Audrey's definitely careering down the proverbial slippery slope into not just accepting but embracing her newfound girlhood, with very little resistance to the dresses or piercings - not forgetting the dolls from earlier. Although with various hints throughout that Audey wasn't very masculine in appearance or some of his preferred activities (action figures), adjustment's going to be a lot easier than it would be for his/her siblings.
