Seven Dresses - The Fifth Dress by Maeryn Lamonte Copyright © 2023 With the issue of his prescription sorted, Michael - now very much more Shelley - falls into the more girly lifestyle she's always felt was missing from her life. She only has two weeks with her uncle and aunt though, and the prospect of going home becomes more daunting as the end of her stay draws to an end.

-oOo-

The First Dress I Wore Home

Two weeks passed remarkably quickly. Miranda sorted out the prescription the next day and, much to my delight, I stopped having to worry about a certain part of my anatomy trying to sabotage me.

I did spend a day round at the neighbours house, somewhat to Chaney's disgust, but it turned out the Jean and I were very similar minded, and she had a wealth of information regarding being a teenage girl that I wasn’t likely to get from anywhere else.

Of course I was largely there to keep my cousin company, and we did spend most of our time together. According to her, putting on a dress hadn't changed me that much except that I smiled a lot more, and I'll admit I did feel very much more relaxed in my new form.

The blockers took the edge off so much. No more confusing thoughts and feelings, I felt free to be a girl around her. There were times when we'd snuggle up together, both of us feeling nothing more than the close friendship we'd always shared, and maybe fall asleep, then wake the next morning to find ourselves still snuggled together with a blanket or duvet thoughtfully laid over us by my aunt or uncle.

Chaney didn't snore, but she did have a tendency to dribble, which was mildly gross and great fun to tease her with.

I had several more sessions with Dr Prendergast and other members of his clinic, some of which involved me repeating much of what I’d said to different people, but there was also a lot of me being told what to expect if I chose to go this way.

They said much the same as Miranda, that I’d most likely be found out eventually. People from my generation seemed to be a lot more accepting of non-binary gender issues, so I’d most likely only have to face the prejudice of older generations along with the few die-hard dinosaurs in my own. They said there was always a possibility that some members of my family would never accept the new me.

They said I’d never be able to have children of my own, which didn’t bother me much, but they said that might change when I was older.

They said I’d have to take hormones regularly for the rest of my life and there might be health complications further along the way. They said I wouldn't be permitted to take cross-gender hormones until I was sixteen, which gave me three long years to decide if this was really right for me. Gender reassignment surgery wouldn’t be an option until I was eighteen and if the hormones didn’t give me the sort of breast development I wanted, the breast augmentation would be something I’d have to fund myself.

Most of it didn’t see to matter. Then and there I was happy just being a girl.

In the second week, Aunt Miranda suggested a social experiment. Since I'd successfully managed to stay under the radar during all of my first week, and since I wasn’t planning on staying there long term, she said it might be educational to let the people I'd befriended know exactly who they'd been spending time with.

I asked if we could delay it to closer too the end of the week, so I wouldn't have to endure any disaster for too long, and Miranda agreed to set it up for the Friday.

Lonny and her husband we're due back from honeymoon on the Saturday, when we'd all join them for a family meal out, then on Sunday, Richard and Miranda would drive me home.

As Friday loomed, I became progressively more withdrawn. Chaney tried to lift me out of it, but she understood, so didn't push it. Miranda on the other hand was less sympathetic.

“You’re supposed to be keeping Chaney company,” she said from her vantage leaning on the bedroom door.

“I don't feel like it,” I said from behind one of Lonny’s old girly magazines. I didn't much feel like reading either, but it gave me somewhere to hide.

Miranda snatched it out of my hands. “You're worried about the barbeque on Friday, I understand, and you’re worried about how your dad’ll react on Sunday, but those things haven't happened yet and you can't do much, either to predict what's going to happen or to improve the outcome, can you?”

I shook my head.

“So you're wasting effort worrying about something you can't change and you’re wasting precious time you could be spending with your cousin right now. That doesn't sound like the rational response I've come to expect from my favourite niece.”

I sighed and climbed off the bed. There aren't many things more annoying than losing an argument to logic.

It did mean that Chaney and I were able to enjoy our last couple of days together, and that I was somewhat better than useless when it came time to prepare for the barbeque.

Every girl had one, Chaney had told me, even her. The little black dress she'd persuaded me to buy was precisely that. I'd vetoed her first choice and settled on one with a fuller, loser skirt, but between the narrow straps and mid-thigh hemline, it still left a lot of me exposed to the elements. Perfect for keeping cool in what was proving to be yet another hottest summer on record, but still a little nerve racking to wear in public. It would have all the lads drooling and begging for a taste of something I didn't have to offer, so I'd have to be very much on guard.

Fortunately, through Jean I'd made friends with a lot of the local girls and they’d agreed to help keep the wolves at bay. Though I did wonder if they’d be as willing when we reached the end of the evening.

Richard was in his element, flipping burgers and sending out plate after plate of lightly smoked meaty goodness, along with enough meat substitute to keep his hippy reputation intact. I did try a veggie burger, which was okay but no substitute for genuine cow.

The evening wore on with my age group naturally separating into couples, single girls and single guys. The olds did their own, subtler and more complex social dance and we all had a great time, right up until the moment my aunt tapped a fork against her glass, the high-pitched ting sufficient to draw everyone's attention and drop the conversation to a murmur.

“As you know,” she said, “we've been fortunate enough to have a temporary addition to our household.” She looked my way and the crowd made a selection of appreciative noises.

“You may also know that Shelley is due to go home this weekend, on Sunday. This little soirée is an opportunity for her to say goodbye to all the friends she's made while she's been with us, but it's also an opportunity for her to say something else to you all.”

Miranda had allowed me the option on this last part. If I’d given her even so much as a shake of my head during the evening, she'd have limited her address to making this a farewell party. I'd been tempted, but my friends deserved honesty from me and, as my aunt has said, this was a good opportunity to give me a low threat glimpse of what my future might hold.

“Good evening everyone,” I said, glancing around nervously. This was going to be harder than I'd thought. “So, yeah. You all know me. I’m Lonny and Chaney’s cousin, and I've really enjoyed getting to know you all over these last two weeks. The thing is, I guess I haven't been completely honest with you. Not that I haven't wanted to be but, as I hope you'll give me a chance to explain, this has all been a little bit difficult and new to me too, and deciding what to say and when has been a bit of a challenge.

“You see, you all know me as Michelle, but my parents actually christened me Michael.”

A few gasps from the parents, a few louder and slightly more inappropriate responses from, in particular, the male contingent of the younger crowd. More than a few shocked faces all around.

“I knew it! I knew there was something off about that freak!”

The words came from Todd, the one local boy who’d made the biggest effort to climb into my panties. Obviously there had to be something wrong with me since I was the only girl who had thus far resisted his, for want of a better term, charms.

A word sprang to mind. As a derogatory term, it was a little unfair as it described an occasional pastime common to all teenage boys. It was also, to a small degree, ironic, being something currently denied me due to my drugs, however, it did give me some perspective on how it felt to insult someone using a part of their nature over which they had little or no control.

The loudest gasp among the adults had, unsurprisingly, come from Sandy. I could see her venting her outrage at my aunt, with her husband standing passively by. She gestured to her kids who reluctantly broke off from the group of teenagers to follow her home. Jean fell into step behind her mum, but she caught my eye and gave me the universal sign for 'call me’ before disappearing through the gate.

Everybody else stayed, waiting for more of an explanation, and it was too late to back out now. I carried on with the speech I’d spent most of the day planning.

I gave them a brief and somewhat expurgated version of my life up to that point, leaving out all less pleasant details of how my dad in particular had made life miserable. This was not dirty laundry day, after all. I told them what the specialists my aunt had taken me to had told me and about the effect the drugs I’d been given were having. I’m not sure if Sandy would have been mollified to know that I couldn’t have acted inappropriately with her daughter even if I’d wanted to, but it did make a point that I was prepared to make sacrifices for what I was doing. I apologise for not being honest with them from the start, but hoped they’d understand. It had all been very new to me when I’d first arrived and the opportunity to say something at the outset had come and gone. This I hoped would be enough to make up for it.

As predicted, most of my peer group were pretty cool about the whole thing, Todd and a couple of girls, whose names I’ve happily forgotten, being the only exceptions. Most of the adults were warily accepting, asking a few questions of their own but for the most part being a group of people with enough intelligence to override their natural prejudices.

The evening came to an end shortly afterwards. I hung around to say a few goodbyes then retreated to my shared bedroom and my phone.

“UOK?” I sent to Jean.

The phone rang a few seconds later.

“Mum had her rant,” Jean said. I could tell from the sniffles she’d been crying. “Wanted to know what we’d got up to all those times you were alone together and wouldn’t accept the truth. She told me to go to my room, so I guess I’m grounded.”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference, Mum would still have blown her lid. I still can't believe you're not a girl. You're the best friend I ever had.”

“That's what I was trying to say though. I am a girl, just not physically, and I'm kind of hoping to fix that eventually.

“Look, I can understand if you're upset. I wanted to come clean right at the start, but couldn't think how to.”

“It's okay. I probably would have flipped out if you’d said something when we first met, but you've been a great friend since.”

“Hopefully still a friend?”

“Definitely, though I don't know how Mum’ll take it.”

“We’ll find a way to fix that.”

“Yeah. Well not right now, she’s in full righteous indignation mode at the mo, and will probably keep at it for a week or more.”

“I guess this is goodbye then, at least for now.”

“Let me see if I can sneak out tomorrow evening.”

“Can't tomorrow evening. We're going out with Lonny and her husband.”

“When you get back then. Even if it's late, text me.”

“Okay. I'll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah. Bye.”

“I hope you're not intending to wear that when we take you home.” Aunt Miranda stood in the doorway. I couldn’t say how long she’d been listening, but a quick mental review suggested I hadn’t said anything incriminating.

“It wouldn’t be right for a girl to wear the same thing two days running.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday. We take you home on Sunday.”

“That’s true. Is there something wrong with this dress then?”

“Not at all. Would I be correct in assuming my daughter suggested it?”

“The one she had in mind was even more revealing. It had a tight skirt which always worries me a little.”

“I had noticed you like full skirts. They look good on you too. They give the impression of a narrower waist.”

“So why not this dress if there’s nothing wrong with it?”

“What would you like your father’s first impression of you in a dress to be? I mean, as teen-girl-wear goes, it’s fairly tame, but Richard and I have had quite a few years to get used to it. Chaney not so much, but some of Lonny’s skirts would have been indecent if she had a bout of hiccups.”

I giggled at the image. “What would you suggest? My Glad Rags dress?”

“No. That was special for your mum. I very much doubt your dad would appreciate it as much. Was there anything you bought last week that wasn’t Chaney’s idea?”

“Most of it. I mean, I get the whole less is more thing, but it’s not me. Most of the time she’d pull me into a shop and show me something and I’d go through the racks until I found something else I liked more.”

“Was there anything that was entirely your choice? You picked the shop, you picked the dress?”

“Well...” I led her through to the very full wardrobe in the spare room and pulled out a modest summer dress. Hem below the knee, boat collar that just about showed a hint of my clavicle and three-quarter length sleeves. Cotton of course, with a fussy little flower pattern on a cream background. I held it up in front of me.

“That looks just about perfect. Do you have a cardigan to go with it?”

I reached back into the wardrobe and pulled out a white, crocheted cardi. It shouldn’t have gone with the cream base of the dress, but somehow it did.

“You keep those out to wear on Sunday. Choose something else for tomorrow. Nothing too outrageous though.”

“Erm...”

“What?”

“Where am I going to put all this?”

“Don’t worry about that. The loft is full of old suitcases. I’m sure we can spare a couple in good enough condition.”

“What’s good enough?”

She gave me a mock severe look. “Your uncle would say, ‘When someone offers you a horse for free, don’t waste time checking out the condition of its teeth. Just say thank you, climb on its back and ride. Even if it collapses under you in a few miles, it's still worth a bob or two at the glue factory, plus you’re a few miles further down the road without having had to walk.’”

“Is that anything like, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“It's exactly like that, except your uncle tends to get carried away with his metaphors.”

“What was that bit about checking its teeth?”

“One of the ways you could tell the age of a horse was by looking at the condition of its teeth,” Uncle Richard said from just outside the door. “That is a very pretty dress, young lady. You have better taste than either of our daughters.” Then to his wife he added. “I'll just pop up into the loft and see if I can find a couple of cases, shall I?”

---

Saturday morning was largely about packing. All The new clothes I’d bought plus the hand me downs from my cousin filled a lot of space and most of it needed handling carefully so it didn't get crushed or creased. Some of the posher stuff like my suit from the wedding – now dry cleaned and pressed – went into garment bags. With that easing the load and more than a little help from my cousin, I managed to fit everything else into the two suitcases Uncle Richard had found for me. Apparently, ‘good enough' meant slightly scuffed. The zippers all worked and the wheels were all there, which was more than could be said for any luggage I had access to at home.

Afternoon involved a visit to my aunt's salon where my hair growth from the previous two weeks was sorted into a more believable pixie cut and my finger and toe nails were treated to a little subtle colour. Nothing to shout out, 'look at me, I'm a girl!’ but enough to leave no doubt once you noticed it. The varnish was hardened under ultra violet light which meant even nail polish remover wouldn't touch it.

The evening with Lonny and co was so much fun. She was thrilled to meet her new cousin and, despite the fairly significant age difference, we hit it off from the start. Her husband didn't quite know what to make of me, so Richard kept him distracted while the rest of us girls talked.

Afterwards, when we arrived back at the house, I asked Miranda if it would be okay to go for a quick walk. She agreed but suggested I keep it short since, even in a good neighbourhood like theirs, it wasn’t a great idea to be out alone after dark. I assured her I wouldn't be long and headed for Jean’s house, fishing my phone from my purse as I did so.

Jean’s bedroom was inevitably upstairs. She opened a window.

“Climb up,” she hissed, pointing at a nearby tree.

“What, in this dress? You must be joking!”

“I can’t come down. Mum’s on the prowl.”

“Hang on.” I’d spotted a ladder laying on the ground against the side of the house. I’ll admit I was a bit pathetic with it, not wanting to get any muck on my clothes and having forgone, at least for the time being, any upper body strength my hormones might have given me, but it was aluminium and even with my feeble capacity I was able to put it in place. The hard bit was leaning it against the wall and extending it enough without making a lot of noise.

Climbing it meant I’d be inviting anyone below to look up my skirt, but I hadn’t worked out how to avoid that yet, so I trusted to luck and the lateness of the hour and just got on with it.

“Hi,” I said when I was on a level with her.

“Hi yourself,” she said with a contented smile on her face.

“I didn’t want last night to be the way we left things. I wanted you to know that whatever else you may hear, I really did just want to be your friend, as a girl.”

“I get that. I mean, Mum’s an idiot. I tried to tell her you never did anything, but she just wants a scandal to get all stupid about.

“As far as I'm concerned, you're about the girliest girl I've met, and it’s been great having someone I can let my hair down with. Chaney and the others are alright, but none of them are into, you know, pretty dresses and stuff.”

“So we’re okay then?”

“Oh yeah. If anything I'm a little disappointed, 'cos I've been thinking it would be kind of cool having a boyfriend who was into the same stuff as me.”

“Well, maybe there's someone out there like that, but it's not me. Friend yes, but not boy. I'm not even sure it'd work out the way you'd wanted if you did find someone.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the drugs I'm taking kind of get in the way of my bits working. I don’t know many boys my age who’d choose to do that.”

“You don’t have to take the drugs though, do you?”

“You do if you want to stay pretty.”

“Well, you certainly are pretty. Would you mind if I kissed you?”

Not something I’d anticipated. Not something I particularly wanted either.

“How disappointed would you be if I said I’d rather not?”

“Well, disappointed obviously. But I’d get over it. Don’t you think I’m pretty?”

“Well, yeah, but... But I don’t think I’m into girls. I kind of thought you were the same.”

“Yeah, I am. I mean I’m not. Into girls I mean. I just thought... This is kind of confusing.”

“Yeah. You should try it from my side. Look, I wanted to make sure we could still be friends. I kind of hope I’ll be able to come and stay with my aunt and uncle and Chaney again sometime, and I’d really like it if we could hang, maybe go shopping and stuff.”

“I’d like that too.”

We ran out of words and silence rushed in to fill the gap.

“Well,” I said after an uncomfortable pause, “I told my aunt I wouldn’t be gone long.”

“Best you go then. My mum’ll probably stick her beak in sometime soon.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m coming next time.’

“Sure. See you.”

She was shutting me out which wasn’t ideal. I wasn’t going to see her again for several months at least. I'd just have to wait until the next time then try to mend whatever fences were still broken.

I climbed down the ladder. Her window was closed and the curtains drawn before I reached the ground. I still made the effort to retract the ladder and lay it back where I'd found it.

---

“Hey, if it isn't the freak.”

“Hi Todd. You're out late.”

“I could say the same about you, freak. What, were you visiting your pretend lezzer girlfriend?”

I ignored the bait. “I hope you can understand why I kept turning you down now.”

“Yeah, ‘cos you was afraid I’d find out and tell everyone what a freak you are.”

“Except I told everyone what a freak I am, so that doesn’t seem so likely, does it?” I smiled at him to make it clear I wasn’t goading him in the same way he was trying to goad me. “It was going to come out sooner or later, and I didn’t want you having to deal with your mates laughing at you because you went out with a boy in a dress.”

He moved in close and snarled at me. “Yeah, well it didn’t work did it? ‘Cos they’re laughing at me for wanting to go out with a freak in a dress.”

“Well, I’m sorry. I did my best to discourage you, and you know, these days they do try to make sure you lads understand that no means no.”

He took another step forward, forcing me backwards. The neighbour’s fence wasn’t more than a couple of feet behind me. “Well, you’re not going to say no to me now are you?”

“I’m not sure what you don’t want me to say no to. I never meant you any harm and all I want to do right now is go home.”

“Everything alright, Shelley?”

I had never been more glad to hear another voice in my life. We both turned to see my uncle leaning on the fence not fifty yards from us, sucking on a pipe. Todd was bright enough to back off, but he still kept his face turned my way, and there was murder, or manslaughter (freak slaughter?) at the very least, in his eyes.

“It’s alright, Uncle Richard. I was just on my way home when I bumped into Todd. He says it can be dangerous to wander around by yourself after dark, and he’s kept me company since.”

“That’s as well. If anyone was to hurt any of my girls – including Shelley here – I’m not sure I'd trust myself to act rashly, and I really don’t need a GBH charge added to my criminal record. You know what GBH stands for l, don’t you Todd?”

“Erm...”

“Well, why don’t you get yourself home and google it? I can look after my niece from here.”

“Fine.” Todd sneered at me one last time, then just loud enough for my uncle to hear, he added “you should be careful about climbing ladders in a dress. Wouldn’t want anyone catching sight of something you didn’t ought to have, would we?”

He looked like he wanted to say more, probably some jibe about the small size of what he was referring to, but he was pushing his luck and he knew it, so he headed off into the darkness.

“He won’t thank you for that kindness you know?” my uncle said.

“Probably not, but I don’t need the hassle right now, and you could argue he has a right to be angry.”

“Not that angry. Up a ladder, eh? What’s that about?”

“Saying a proper goodbye to a friend.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“No, nothing like that. Just making sure we were still okay.”

“You wouldn’t have been if Sandy had caught you.”

“Maybe not. What’s that you’re smoking? It doesn’t smell like tobacco.”

“Oh, it’s a bad habit I haven’t managed to kick yet. You’re aunt doesn’t know, and I’d like to keep it that way, so no more talk of ladders and no talk about this, okay?”

“Okay, but she probably does know.”

“Why d'you say that?”

“The smell is pretty strong and I don’t think it’s going to go away that fast.”

He chuckled. “You’re probably right, but I’ll be happy to pretend she doesn’t know as long as she wants to play along. One secret to a long and happy marriage, not being totally honest. I mean, I admire what you did yesterday, but there is such a thing as too much truth, like with what’s-his-face back there.”

“Todd.”

“I don’t really want to know. Safer for him maybe.”

---

I spent a restless night, catching snatches of sleep here and there, but never managing to settle completely. I eventually gave up trying when I heard footsteps passing the bedroom door. It was already light, but being the middle of summer, that didn’t count for much.

I followed the footsteps downstairs and into the kitchen where I encountered one of the widest yawns I’d ever seen.

“Morning sweetheart,” Aunt Miranda said once she’d reattached her jaw. “Trouble sleeping?”

“I can’t help thinking about, you know, going home.”

“I understand, kiddo, but you’re going to have to face it sooner or later.”

“Couldn’t it be later? I mean Lonny’s moved out now so surely you could do with having me around to keep Chaney company still?”

“Don’t call me Shirley.” It was a family joke. Well, yeah sure, it was an ancient joke, probably prehistoric, but one that our family adopted long before I understood it. “We’ve all enjoyed having you, Shell, but two weeks was what I agreed with your mum and dad, and I don’t have any good reason to prolong it.”

“But what’s he going to say?”

“I could take a guess, and I might even get close, but my brother is a law unto himself. Whatever he does choose to say, there’s not a lot you can do about it right now.”

“I could dress as Michael.”

“And that would be a hideous waste of all the progress you’ve made over these last two weeks. Besides, he’d still have something to say about your haircut and your nails and the pills you’re taking.”

I looked at my nails, all shiny and subtly pink. I couldn’t help smiling.

“Besides besides, the only Michael clothes you have are the ones you wore to the wedding. It was too hot for them then and it’s too hot for them now.

“Shell, you chose this route two weeks ago. You knew back then what it would mean. You did, didn't you?”

“Yeah, of course, but this day seemed a long way away back then.”

“Yes, like Lonny on her wedding day. She said yes to Martin eight months ago and had a whale of a time planning the wedding. She still needed help getting over a pair of cold feet on the day.”

“Really? But she was so radiant when she walked into the church.”

“I didn’t think you noticed. According to your dad, you only had eyes for your other cousin.”

“Yeah, well he can’t see past his own nose, can he?”

Miranda laughed and poured out the tea. Three mugs, one of which was placed in front of me.

“That’s the spirit. That’s the Michelle who came to stay with us two weeks ago. The Michelle who decided to stand up to her dad because she’s had enough of his cr...rubbish.”

I hid my smile in my mug of tea. By the time I put it back down, I’d made up my mind about something.

“Would you mind calling me Michael?”

Her eyes shot up.

“I’d like to at least give it a try. I mean I’m not a princess, but if she can own it as a girl’s name, then there’s no reason why I shouldn’t, is there?”

“No there isn’t, not really. Except I did a bit of digging into that particular conundrum, and it turns out her name is actually Marie-Christine something or other. She’s called Princess Michael because she’s married to Prince Michael.”

“Seriously!?”

“Mhm.”

“My dad named me after Princess Michael even though there’s a Prince Michael?”

“I know. Better not tell him or the next thing we know you’ll always have been named after the Prince.

“So, what’s your decision on the name?”

I exercised my woman’s prerogative.

“Alright Michelle. I’m going to take these cups of tea upstairs and go back to bed because five-thirty is way too early to be getting up on a Sunday. Stay up and watch the TV if you want. Use the comforter across the back of the sofa as a blanket if you like, and I’ll see you later.”

I didn’t feel much like telly. Even with all the on-demand choice on offer with a well equipped smart-TV, nothing really appealed. I did make use of the sofa though, and the comforter. I stayed awake long enough to finish my tea, but the next thing I knew was the sounds and smells of a cooked breakfast being put together emanating from the kitchen and a gentle clunk as a fresh mug of tea was placed on the coffee table nearby.

“Morning sleepyhead,” my cousin greeted me. “You know, a girl could develop a complex with all the times you’ve deserted my room in the middle of the night.”

“That’s only the second time, and it’s not all about you. What time is it?”

“About ten-thirty I think.”

“What! Why didn’t anyone wake me?”

“Mum thought you could do with the sleep. Besides, you looked so vewy, vewy cute sleeping there like that, with your pwetty little snorts and mutterings.”

“I do not snort!”

“How do you know what you do when you’re sleeping?”

“Like you and your dribbling? Only you only need to touch your pillow to know that’s true.”

“Girls!” Miranda called through. “Stop squabbling. Shelley, you should get dressed. We’re going to want to leave soon after breakfast. I’ve left a carrier bag on your bed for your nightclothes, slippers included. If you bring those down with you when you come, Richard will sort everything else.”

Chaney joined us for the ride. It would mean a long drive one way just to go all the way back again, but I appreciated the gesture. She’d been offered the choice of staying behind, but I think she could tell how nervous I was, so instead we talked and played games and had all the usual fun we’d enjoyed in each other’s company over the years, only according to her this was ten times better because she didn’t have to cajole me out of my mood first, and there were so many more things we could talk about now that we were both girls.

Good company ate up the miles and before I was ready, we were driving through familiar neighbourhoods. I fell silent and Chaney left me to my thoughts.

“We’re here,” Aunt Miranda announced as she pulled on the handbrake, proving that men do not have a monopoly on stating the obvious.

I looked out of the window at the all too familiar front of my home. It was quite a bit smaller than my aunt and uncle’s house, a three-bedroom semi in the middle of semi-desirable middle-class suburbia. It had a comfortable old-clothes feel that a home should have, except it now brought a depressing weight with it. For all that I had no bad memories of living there, I realised I didn’t have any that were half so good as the least enjoyable of the previous two weeks. Here was Michael’s home, and the best he’d been with it was a reluctant okay.

“Come on, sweetheart. We’ll come in with you – you know, show a united front and all that – but we’d better make a move before someone objects to us just sitting out here. Better to face your dad out of sight of prying eyes, eh?”

“Too late,” I said, nodding at the front door, which was opening. I stepped out of the car feeling as though a cannonball had just settled in my stomach.

“What the bloody hell is that?” No prizes for guessing who. I felt myself wither under his gaze as I so often had in the past. “I thought you said our son had grown into a man.”

“No dear,” Mum said, a little more steel in her voice than usual. “What I said was that you wouldn’t recognise your son when you saw him next. You just made a whole bunch of assumptions and filled in all the blanks with your own nonsense, as usual.”

“Well, you’re right that I don’t recognise him. How long did it take you to turn him into this poncy little fairy then, and just what the bloody hell do you think you were playing at?” His voice rose steadily throughout to the extent that neighbouring front doors were beginning to open a crack. “Get inside you,” he growled at me. “Go upstairs and change into something more appropriate before you make us the laughing stock of the street.”

I raised my eyes to meet his. I was angry and wanted more than anything to stand up to him, but there was something in his eyes that cut through all my resolve. “Yes Dad,” I murmured and started walking past him.

“You always were a bully,” my aunt didn’t have the same difficulty as me standing up to him, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. He was surrounded by angry faces – Aunt Miranda, Mum, even the usually laconic Uncle Richard, but Dad’s superpower has always been obstinate misogyny, and he had the strength to stand against us all.

“Hey, cuz,” Chaney called.

I turned to see her holding a couple of garment bags, which she offered to me. Dad was building up steam for a proper rant with my aunt matching him. Apologies for the mixed metaphor, but they had locked horns and so didn't notice anything going on around them. I took the bags from Chaney and slunk indoors.

Upstairs in my room, I hung the garment bags on the back of my door. I opened my wardrobe and hunted through the sorry array of jeans and tee-shirts that made up Michael's selection of clothing. I'd never taken any interest in shopping for clothes, somewhat obviously because I would never have been allowed to buy what I really wanted, but now it was so depressingly less than anything I would care to have covering my skin.

I considered for an instant going back downstairs wearing nothing but skin, but for all the momentary satisfaction that little rebellion might have given, it was an infantile gesture and not one that would help win any arguments.

Things were going badly out of control downstairs and the only faint hope I had of fixing them centred on trying to diffuse the tension, which meant opening Dad's pressure release valve.

It was still too hot for the suit, but I figured I'd show willing. I stepped out of my dress and lay it carefully on my bed, conscious of how easily it would wrinkle, and pulled out my suit. I had no intention of changing out of my underwear. Dad wasn't going to see that and I needed some lifeline to cling to.

The argument outside was gaining momentum. I'd have to hurry if I hoped to achieve anything. I pulled on the trousers, shirt and jacket and looked in the mirror.

I could have cried. I’d forgotten, Dad had told Mum to buy me something I could grow into. I'd looked a little ridiculous in it at the wedding but now, with my pixie cut and pink nails, I couldn't have looked more like a girl.

On a whim, I looked in the other garment bag. What I found derailed the train of thought that was currently shunting me back into the sidings of my old life.

Yeah, Uncle Richard isn't the only one who goes a little far with his metaphors.

Ten minutes later I stepped back out the front door to find my father and aunt red in the face and yelling at each other at the tops of their lungs. Mum looked distressed and Uncle Richard was being his normal bemused self, although beginning to look worried. Quite a few of our neighbours had come out into their gardens, the live action event evidently of greater interest than whatever they'd been watching on the box.

I walked up behind my father and placed my hands in his. It was enough to interrupt his diatribe. He looked down at me.

“What the f...”

“Daddy, there are children.”

“What the hell do you think you're wearing?”

“Well, you called me a little fairy and told me to put on something more appropriate. I did try some of my old clothes first, but they didn’t look right, whereas this struck me as perfect.” I took my hand back and spread out my arms to show off the gossamer wings. A quick twirl showed the dress of to its full effect. I’d left the cape and wrap-around skirt upstairs, so couldn't have looked more fairy-like if I'd tried.

It left Dad speechless and Aunt Miranda fighting so hard to keep from laughing that the argument evaporated like a snowflake in the Sahara. While the adults were busy trying to sort out their next move, I headed for the neighbours who'd congregated into a small crowd.

“Hi Mrs Jones, Mr Peterson.” They were the only two names I was certain of. “My name’s Michelle, but I used to be Michael. My Dad’s not too happy about me becoming a girl, but like you can see,” I gave them a happy twirl, “I’m much better at it than I ever was at being a boy, so I think I'm going to stay like this.

“I know it's a bit strange, so if you have any questions, just ask. I’ll be happy to talk to any of you about it.”

“No, you bloody well won’t.” Dad had regained some control over himself and had marched over to grab me by the arm.

“Ow! You're hurting me.”

“Derek, perhaps you should ease up.” Mr Peterson came to my rescue.

“Shut up Frank. I know how to look after my own kid.”

“I don't think you do, Derek.” Mrs Jones this time. “And if you carry on like that, I shall be calling the police, Sunday or not.”

Some people have funny priorities.

Much to my delight, every one of our neighbours sided with me and, despite his evident anger, Dad backed down. He let go of my arm.

“Michael, will you please come inside. We don’t want to disturb these nice people.”

“It’s Michelle, Daddy, and I wasn’t the one who was shouting.”

Storm clouds formed briefly behind his eyes, but he kept control.

“Michelle’s a girl’s name.”

“Yes, but didn’t you name me after Princess Michael of Kent? If I’m going to have a girl's name, I'd like it to be a proper one.”

“Fine, but can we talk about it inside? Your aunt, uncle and cousin are going indoors.”

This was true. Mum held the door. Chaney was already in the house, Richard was manhandling my two sizeable suitcases up the driveway and Miranda was just closing up the car.

“I'm not coming in if you're going to start shouting again.”

It was almost comical watching Dad struggle to be reasonable, but the crowd was on my side for once, and without the upper hand, he had no choice but to abandon his usual high and mighty perch. It occurred to me that he was just as outnumbered and off-balanced when it came to our small family group as well. Mum had already shown that she was ready to stand up to him, and he’d even roused the wolf man enough to set him growling.

I told my neighbourhood fan club that I’d be out and about the following day then let Dad guide me – gently this time – back towards our house.

“Would you like to come round to ours tomorrow?” The question came from a girl with freckles who was maybe a year or two younger than me. She looked up at her mother, checking that she was okay to make the offer.

“What’s your name?” I’d seen her around but had never thought to ask.

“Sophie.”

“I’d love to come round, Sophie. If it’s okay with your mum. It’s number thirty-four, isn’t it?”

Sophie’s mother nodded in approval as well as confirmation on the house number. We agreed a time of around ten o’clock and I let myself be guided away.

“You are not going round there in a dress,” Dad murmured through gritted teeth and a rictus grin.

“I don’t have much choice. Most of my girl clothes are dresses.”

“You have some perfectly serviceable jeans in your wardrobe.”

“I’ll put some on when we’re in the house and show you. I can’t help looking like a girl, Dad, and I really don’t want to stop.”

“Well, you’re going to bloody well try.”

I stopped talking. Like the bullies at my school, he would always win when it was just two of us because he was more interested in getting what he wanted than he was in reason.

. My only effective response was to keep my arguments for when we were in a group because, also like the bullies at school, he was usually more reasonable when other people were around.

Usually. It depended on the people and their mood, which was what I was counting on.

“Mum, you know Sophie from number thirty-four?”

“The Peterson’s, yes.”

“She asked if I’d like to come round tomorrow. Would that be okay?”

“I don’t see why not, dear.” She was talking to me but her eyes were staring into Dad’s, daring him to contradict her.

As I said, depending on the people and their mood. Mum didn’t stand up to Dad often but when she did he rarely won. He broke eye contact first, but he was evidently not happy.

The next half hour consisted of Miranda talking for the most part but with Mum and Chaney chipping in with even a supporting grunt or two from Richard, all explaining the events of the previous two weeks.

Dad didn’t say anything, but his expression reminded me of a war film I’d watched with him once, when the soldiers were hunkered down in a fox hole with artillery shells and mortar rounds exploding all about them. He was just waiting for the barrage to stop so he could make his escape or counter attack or whatever.

I walked over to his chair and knelt beside him, putting my hand on his. It took a while for people to notice, but slowly the noise dropped until it was just me and Dad sitting in a pool of silence

He wouldn’t look at me at first, but I was ready to wait. Eventually he gave up and raised his eyes to meet mine.

I offered him a sad smile. “I know you hate this, Dad. I know you don’t understand it and think it’s just wrong. But it’s something I need to do, or at least I feel I need to try. Would you just let me? Please?”

I held his gaze, keeping my expression gentle and sad rather than angry and insistent, as the rest of my family had chosen.

I watched as the obstinate set of his jaw relaxed, as the expression in his eyes shifted from recalcitrant to... I don’t really know. Regretful? Finally he nodded.

I rose and reached towards him only to have him recoil from me.

“Just a hug, Dad. Surely that’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Don’t call me Shirley,” he replied, but he allowed the hug.

I mean, I told you it was a family joke, didn’t I? I mean, if only by adoption.

Also, if Dad was making jokes, it meant he wasn’t in combat mode anymore.

“Are you going to listen now?” Aunt Miranda said, causing Dad’s shoulders to stiffen. It was a reaction I recognised since it was usually the way I responded to Dad most of the time.

“I don’t think we need to talk about it right now, Aunt Miranda.”

“He has to know...”

“He will. When he’s ready. Please Aunt Miranda. Things are going to be okay.”

And they were. We had some refreshments, with Dad doing the silent thing – which was better than the ranting thing – and the rest of us chatting in a comfortable relaxed way. Aunt Miranda insisted on telling Mum all the things she’d planned on saying to Dad, about the legal documents she’d drawn up which gave me, and not my parents, the right to decide whether I took the drugs I was being prescribed, and Mum played along asking all the right questions as though she’d never heard it all before. I suppose there was a chance Dad might have absorbed something through osmosis, but I doubted it. He’s always had a very thick hide, has my dad.

When time came to say goodbye, I gave a hug and a kiss to my cousin, aunt and uncle. I thanked them for looking after me, words I have never meant more, and leaned comfortably against Mum’s side with her arm draped gently about me as they headed out the door.

“Mum, wasn’t there the matter of a bet?” Chaney asked just moments from climbing into the car.

I tried to catch my aunt’s attention and shook my head gently.

She must have noticed because she locked eyes with her daughter. “I think we can let it go this time, love.”

“No, she’s right,” Dad said. His first words in over an hour.

“Well, my virtue is still intact,” Chaney declared, ignoring her mother’s warning. “Shelley has been a perfect lady the whole time she’s been with us. I wouldn’t have been safer with my sister.”

Dad was doing his best not to rise to the bait, which I appreciated. “So, how much do I owe you?” he asked Miranda. “Two suitcases full and good quality stuff if I’m not mistaken.” He looked over my fairy dress, with a surprisingly discerning eye.

“They’re not all the same quality, and quite a bit of it is stuff Chaney was chucking out. I really don’t need the money.”

“And I said I would cover the cost, and since my son is obviously more of a gentleman than I took him for...”

“Lady,” Chaney interjected.

“Then I owe you some money.”

“You also owe Michelle something.” Chaney was really pushing it.

“I do, but let’s get the business out of the way first. How much do I owe you?”

“Five hundred quid.”

I hadn’t been sure if she’d be honest. I fought to keep my face relaxed since Dad was staring at me. Probably as well since Chaney wasn’t doing a great job of hiding her outrage.

“Seems a bit steep, but okay. I’ll transfer you the money later if that’s alright.”

“A cheque would be fine.”

“Only you’d never cash it. Besides, the bank’s don’t like cheques these days.”

“Whatever.”

“And now the rest of it.” Chaney had herself back under control, but seemed still to be intent on sabotaging the whole afternoon.

“Michael, I owe you an apology,” he started.

“It’s alright Dad.”

“No, fairs fair. I thought the worse of you and you’re evidently a better man than I gave you credit for.”

“Call that an apology!” Chaney was incensed. To be honest, I wasn’t that impressed either.

“It’s okay, Chaney,” I said, but I couldn’t quite keep the disappointment from my voice. “You guys should hit the road. It’s a long way back. Thanks again for everything.”

“Everything, Shell?” Aunt Miranda said. “Everything includes you calling me if you need anything. Anything at all. If you’re thanking me for everything, I’ll expect you to call me for any reason, alright?”

“I will, Aunt Miranda.”

And they were gone, disappearing down the road.

“Five hundred quid for a pile of rubbish he’s going to grow out of in a couple of months,” Dad said. “What a bloody waste.” He headed back inside to his television and whatever sports rubbish he'd been watching when we arrived.

I followed him back into the living room and started collecting dirty plates. He gave me an odd look, but I was in and out in just a couple of minutes, so he didn't have long to puzzle over it.

“Thanks, sweetheart. Why don't you go upstairs and unpack? I can sort this lot.”

“I don't mind Mum. I'm not sure I have room to put everything, even if I chuck out all the stuff that's in my wardrobe.”

“Yes, I imagine you have quite a lot more then five hundred pounds worth there. Tell you what, I'll sort you out some cardboard boxes and we'll put anything you don't want up in the loft.”

“Thanks Mum. I could still use a bit more hanging space. Some of my new dresses will get quite creased if they’re too crammed together.”

“I think we have a free-standing clothes rack up in the loft somewhere. I’ll get your dad to look for it when he puts the boxes up. Let me get the washing up done and I’ll sort everything out.”

“Well, let me help with the washing up first. I can’t really do anything else till it’s done, so I might as well help.”

“Well, it seems, whoever went off to stay with Miranda and Richard, it certainly wasn’t my son who came back.”

“You’re better off without him. He was always too caught up in his problems to be much use to anyone.”

“Well Michelle, wash or dry? Oh, or do you prefer Shelley?”

“Whatever you like, Mum. Even Michael. Why don’t I wash? Save you the wrinkles.”

So we did, then Dad was chased from his roost until he’d found enough cardboard boxes to take the stuff I didn’t want from my wardrobe, and dug out the freestanding clothes rail – dismantled of course.

I emptied my wardrobe into the boxes then refilled it with my everyday things, then I spent fifteen minutes with a screwdriver figuring out how to put the clothes rail together. It was a little rickety, but it held the rest of my clothes. I chucked a stack of comics and made enough space for the rail which, with its riot of colours and materials, made a pleasant added feature to the room.

As usual I had no interest in Dad’s choice of TV, so I dug out my school books and had a go at my maths homework, getting stuck after a very short effort.

“I don’t know what I’m doing with this,” I announced, coming into the living room.

“What do you expect me to do about it?” Dad asked.

Mum slapped him on the shoulder. “Aren’t there a couple of girls from your class who live nearby?” She asked.

“I don’t know, Mum. I never got to know any of the girls in my class.”

“’Cos he’s a wimp.”

Dad’s contribution earned him another slap.

“I’ll call around tomorrow, love. Maybe we can find you a study group.”

“What makes you think they’ll want anything more to do with him now?”

“I don’t, but there’s no harm in trying. Why don’t we switch that stupid thing to something more than half of us want to watch? I mean you’re not even watching that, are you?”

“What do you know?”

“I know that when you start channel hopping, like you were doing a minute ago, it means you’ve got bored with what you were watching, and you haven’t been watching this for long enough to care. If you had, you wouldn’t have made all the comments you just did.”

“Oh, whatever. What do you want to watch?”

“Bring up the list.”

“You don’t even know what you want.”

“Of course I don’t. You hog the bloody thing all weekend so I never bother to look. Here, give me the remote.”

“No, I’ll do it.”

The screen changed, showing a list of programmes.

“There. Anna and the King. It’s just starting. Let’s watch that.”

“What the hell is it!”

“It’s the remake of the King and I. You remember, with Deborah Kerr and Yul Brynner. The new one has Jodi Foster in it, and that Chinese actor you like.”

“What, Jackie Chan?”

“No. He was in that rubbish film, what was it, Bulletproof Monkey or something.”

“Bulletproof Monk. Chow Yun Fat?”

“Maybe. I wouldn’t know.”

“Fine, we’ll watch it.”

The screen changed again, showing an advert, which Dad muted.

“What’s it about?” I asked.

“It’s set in the nineteenth century,” Mum said, “about an English school teacher who goes to Siam, modern day Thailand, to teach the king’s children, and ends up falling in love with him.”

“I’d forgotten how mind-numbingly dull the plot was. Come on Michael, I’m sure we can find something better.”

“Sorry Dad, I’m with Mum on this.” The film had started with a scene of Jodi Foster wearing an enormous dress with skirts that belled out so far, everyone was scampering to get out of her way. I was captivated and settled onto the sofa next to Mum, leaning on her and snuggling down for a good watch.

Dad was disgusted, of course, in part by default for not getting his way, but mostly, I think, because a son of his could be interested in such a piece of drivel.

I didn’t follow much of the storyline, and the film felt a little off at times, but overall, I enjoyed it. The costumes and the rich sets were wonderful, and the idea of a relative nobody being overlooked by her countrymen but eventually having such a profound effect on the king worked for me.

“You know it’s a load of rubbish,” Dad said as the credits finally rolled up the screen. “Full of historical inaccuracy.”

“I don’t care,” I said. “It made me feel good, and it was only intended as a piece of fiction.”

“She was a real person, this Anna Leonowens. The film’s based on her Memoires.”

“And if she wrote a bit of wishful thinking, it was still uplifting and romantic.”

“And utter rubbish.”

“Perhaps the sort of rubbish we need a little more of in this day and age. Thank you, Derek, I enjoyed that. We enjoyed that. What do you fancy for tea?”

“I don’t know. Bangers and mash an option?”

“With peas or baked beans?”

“Peas, I think, unless the princess objects.”

“Peas will be great. Do you want me to peal the potatoes, Mum.”

It took a lot less time to put the meal together than usual, and with us chatting through it all, it hardly seemed like a chore.

Mum served up the food while I lay the table and stuck my head through to the lounge to tell Dad we were ready to eat. It all felt very ordinary and very new and exciting at the same time.

Until, of course, Dad tried to ruin it.

“So,” he said from around a sizeable mouthful of sausage. “This is how is going to be, is it? You two ganging up against me.”

Mum and I exchanged puzzled looks.

“What are you talking about, dear?” Mum finally asked after she'd swallowed her mouthful.

“You two conspiring together in the kitchen, ganging up on me to decide what rubbish we watch on the television. Don't think I haven't noticed you’re now supporting our son's ridiculous notion of parading about in a dress.”

It felt like a good time for me to stay quiet. Anything I said would likely only fuel his paranoia. I scooped up another delicate forkful of food and carried on eating.

Meanwhile Mum had been marshalling her arguments. She tried to keep her voice calm and patient, but it came out as more condescending than anything.

“In the first place, we weren't conspiring in the kitchen. Michelle...”

“Michael.”

Mum forced a fragile smile. “Our little princess Michael then, was helping me. Not because she...”

“He.”

“She,” Mum emphasised, “felt obligated, but because she,” another emphasis, “wanted to. The film just happened to be something we were both interested in, so thank you for letting us watch it.

“As to the last, yes I do support her choice to dress and behave as she is doing. I didn't try to make a secret of it...”

“You could have warned me...”

“I did try, Derek, but you... Once you've made your mind up about the truth of something, there's no changing it. Even when the actual truth is right in front of your face, you will not accept the possibility that you could be wrong.”

“May I be excused?” I asked. I'd only half finished my meal, but I'd lost my appetite.

“You can sit where you are,” Dad said, ever the control freak.

“If you're sure you've eaten enough, you can get down,” Mum said in what appeared to be an increasingly less rare show off resistance.

“Daddy, please...”

“Don’t call me Daddy. That's for girls and little children.”

I sighed. “Dad, you said you'd let me do this. Please.”

“See? Now you’re conspiring again.”

“Why don't you go to your room, dear? That way you can't be conspiring to do anything.”

I took the escape. Raised voices followed me up the stairs but couldn't make it past my closed door. I needed something to distract me and I knew I had a piece of English homework I'd been putting off.

Write an essay on the subject of your choice. I hated things like that because either I couldn't think of anything, or I had too many ideas and couldn't choose. The afternoon’s film was still fresh in my mind, so I decided to make it my subject. It wasn't supposed to be that long but once I started, I couldn't seem to stop.

I wrote about the king’s belligerent arrogance and about Anna’s need, almost constantly at first, to tread softly. I wrote about her bravery in refusing to compromise her standards and her delicate diplomacy that slowly undermined the kings resolve, eventually winning him over.

I compared the story to Beauty and the Beast, exploring the idea of how some men become so caught up in their pridefulness that the only way to help them is with a gentle and consistent hand, which was something only the right woman could offer.

I don't think it occurred to me until nearly the end that I was writing about my hopes for my mum and dad. Dad in particular.

Things had settled downstairs when I finally put my pen down. I looked at the pages of writing and wondered what my English teacher would make of it. The sky outside was getting dark so I quietly ducked into the bathroom to wash and change for bed, and do all the other last things of the day. Sometime over the previous couple of weeks I had added cleansing, toning and moisturising my face to the list. I wasn’t sure if I could see any benefits just yet, but it left me feeling a little more girly just for doing it.

I caught sight of Dad coming up the stairs as I made my way back into my room. From the look in his eyes, he hadn't faired too well in the heated conversation he’d shared with Mum, and he wasn't at all impressed with seeing me in a voluminous white nightdress.

“’Night Dad,” I said, my voice breathless and barely audible, before disappearing into my room.

By the time he appeared in my doorway, I had already burrowed deep under my duvet. All that was visible was my face and my pixie haircut.

“What happened to my son?” he asked.

“I’m not sure you really ever had one, Dad. I’m sorry.”

“No, I can’t accept that.”

“So, give me a chance to show you.”

“My sister did this to you.”

“She gave me the choice, Dad – which is more than you’ve ever done. Sorry, but it’s true. ‘Only a bad boy would ask for this,' remember? Aunt Miranda unlocked the door for me, but it was my choice to step through.

“I thought you agreed earlier to let me try this. Are you saying you’ve changed your mind?”

“I’m trying to save you the humiliation you have coming if you do this. It’s not something you’re going to recover from. You’ll be picked on by pretty much everybody after you’re done.”

“I’m picked on by pretty much everybody anyway.”

“I told you. You need to man up and stand your ground.”

“Not a lot of man in here to up, Dad. I have to try my way.”

He shook his head. “Fine. I won’t stop you, but don’t come crying to me when it all turns to sh... When it all goes wrong.”

“And if it doesn’t go wrong? What if I find a way to be happy doing this, Dad? What if I end up being happy, but not in a way you like? Will you try to be happy for me? Will you try to see things from my point of view?”

“Do you know how selfish that sounds?”

“Do you know how selfish you sounded at teatime? I mean, isn’t that the problem? You can only see things from your point of view, and right now I’m seeing things from a different point of view which works for me. Right now you’re giving me the choice of abandoning the only thing that’s brought me a bit of happiness in a long while just to fit in with your ideas of what’s wrong or right, or doing my thing and having you more angry and disappointed than usual. I’d like there to be a third option, but that’s up to you. If you’ll only give me the two, well don’t blame me if you don’t like the choice I make.

“I do love you Dad, I really do, but I don’t think I can turn back from this now.”

“Well, I see your mind is made up. I hope you’re right, but I don’t think you are.

“Your mother has explained about the pills. I think they’re a bad idea because how are you going to stand up for yourself if you don’t let your body grow a bit of muscle. She says that they only hold off your development, so I suppose I can’t really object if you can put things back on track when you’ve realised how much nonsense this all is.

“If you're going to do this, you’re going to do it right though. We’re not going to pretend you always were our little girl, so you’re going to have to get used to people knowing exactly what you are. When you go back to school, you’ll be wearing a dress, which I have no doubt will delight you right up to the moment when you walk through the school gates and discover just how unpleasant your school mates can be.”

“They’re unpleasant enough now, Dad.”

“And that’s nothing compared to what you’ll encounter in a couple of weeks. But, this is your choice. You get to deal with the consequences.”

“Thanks Dad. I suppose it’s as much as I can ask for now, but please try and have an open mind when it works out.”

“If it works out, which it won’t.”

“Goodnight Dad.” There wasn’t much point in arguing further. We had our trenches dug and this was looking like World War One all over again.