I’m so excited
You will note that I resisted capitalising
the s word or adding ‘O’s as my iphone predictive texts suggests I might like
to do (as if it were the OED). The use
of that particular s word has become one of the features of the changes in
modern life on which I am not keen. For
example, I strongly resent its frequent use at the beginning of spoken replies
by authority figures, particularly on the radio, as if its use leant a greater
credence to their answer.
Anyway why am I so excited I hear you
ask? I am so excited I hardly know where
to begin. I’m girlie excited. Before we move on I want to claim some
masculine possession of that word.
Girlie. Why should all the girls
have all the finger stretching, hands waving by face, screaming wild-eyed
excitement? Boys can scream too. It’s
only you can’t add ‘ie’ to boy. Sounds
really odd. Boyie. It even claims a red underscore on my Mac to say, 'I don’t
have that word in my
dictionary.' Unlike girlie. Gender
stereotyping infiltrates it all. I’m that
excited and I’m now going to explain why.
I am designing my first dress. Yes Dress.
Frock. Skirt. (Sorry I’ve never
been educated into the difference. Why
would I? I’m a boy. I wear boxers not
panties. A strong manly thing to
do. Box.)
Well the dress has grown from the
character, if not the underlying persona.
I puzzle, as you know, about the difference, but let’s stick with the
safer ‘character’ for now. It all started
with my segway board. Regular readers
will know that I bought one of those dangerous electrical contraptions (of
course I would) and I’ve been religiously practising on it (actually just had
another idea about a Segway character, but I will keep quiet about that for
now). The thing allows a wonderful gliding movement, is totally controllable
just by shifting weight minutely on the feet and can achieve all that silently
and without undue danger to the rider (although I did have a few falls
initially, so beware. Wear a helmet… I didn’t.)
So (there it is again) I started thinking about what
character could glide about, wear a costume that hid the board and even suit my penchant for pink. I am sure
you are now with me. A divine dress
designer called Daisy from Ilfracombe (email address on application) is, as I
blog, tickling the tension of her Singer and running me up a hysterical hooped Victorian
number, the design of which is below. I
love it. (I soberly resisted the
over-excited capitalisation again.) No sod it, I LOOOOVE it. I can’t wait.
It is to be in pink with whooshes of lace, flowers, long pink damask
gloves, a wide brim hat with flowers; the wonderful wicked works. The wig is
ordered. I am contemplating the Face and
need advice. Current thinking is a
mask. The character has a name. I hereby publicly name her Verity V. Victoria. Or maybe Victoria V. Verity. Don't ask what the middle V. is for.
She will silently float around the venue and
her first outing (I use the word advisedly) will be in Ilfracombe. She will have two little white dogs on
glitter pink leads. I will use embedded music (if I can afford it, the slightly
larger and better Segway board has Bluetooth speakers in-built) but meanwhile a
portable unit in a wheelie shopper or the Victorian equivalent. Maybe a vintage pram… It also gives me
something to hold on to until I am a little more confident on the board.
But here’s where you come in. In the pram or shopper will be gifts for
girls and boys. I need you to help. The next time you are in the pound shop (I
know you don’t like to admit it) please look out for and buy for me the most
genderised (my word) stereotypical plastic nonsenses you can find. Or point me in their direction. No guns or
weapons please, but anything else goes. I
will reimburse you. Keep the receipt. I will wrap them in Blue and Pink tissue
paper, and yes of course the boys get the pink gift and the girls the blue.
Verity V. is to be the Mother
Christmas of the gender questioning society, starting in Ilfracombe…
That’s why I’m SOOO excited.
All the best from a road near you,
Mr Alexander (aka Verity V. )
