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. )