His name is Rodney. And tonight's the night.
I’m humming as I get ready for the youth club dance. I’ve stiffened my petticoat with sugar and it has drip-dried in the showers. “Sorry Matron,” seems to placate the old girl. The petticoat has curtain wire threaded through the hem. When I sit down the hem lifts up around me; an overwhelming arch of pink frills.
...tonight you’re mine, completely...
Matron is standing at the door, “I hope you girls will behave at this dance,” she says with a half smile.
“Yes, Matron,” we chorus.
...you give your love...
I am wearing a cotton satin dress patterned in huge red roses, and a white angora bolero. The stiffened petticoat brings the full circular skirt up to horizontal. I swallow hard with anticipation of the night ahead.
“Can I borrow your lipstick,” asks Chrissy. who is wearing the turquoise twinset she knitted herself by torchlight after lights out.
...is this a lasting treasure or just...
I’m applying my Yardley’s Nippy Beige while humming in my head, so I give Chrissy the nod.
...tonight, you're mine...
Rodney is already on the bus, sitting near the back with Leslie. Story of my life. The stiff petticoat has a job making it down the aisle, but I’m chuffed to grab the empty seat across the aisle from my heartthrob.
I sit. The petticoat lifts the skirt of my dress, showing my navy school knickers and suspenders.
...will you still love me tomorrow...?
© SB Borgersen July 2011