It was only a question of time. Bound to happen. After months of playing dinosaurs and knights-in-castles (that's what she calls it) with the boys, Finje got invited to a girl's party. A girl's party with a theme. Fairies and Princesses!
Had the birthday girl actually met my daughter. My daughter who lives in jeans. Who shows, thankfully as yet, no interest in what adorns her little body whatsoever and has never once demonstrated the slightest affection for or leaning toward anything tulle, pink, magic wandy, tiara-like or wingy. She is, I think, a kind of four year old ladette. A miniature Zoe Ball B.C (before children) if you will, but without the beer.
I was not alone in my anguish. The birthday girl's mum was herself considerably disgruntled at her daughter's wish. What with her being a rather cool ex-punk of the 80s and a black belt in one of those martial arts that begin with "Ju" it's hardly surprising. I would wager she has never worn anything vaguely pastel in her life.
I like her.
Teeth gritted and loins girded, I found myself buying Finje some pink wings and her very first p.a.r.t.y.d.r.e.s.s. It even had some sparkly silver bits in it. No tulle though. No bows either. The fairy-to-be couldn't have cared less. As I blithered on about the party theme and the fact that all the other girls would have wings 'n stuff, she shrugged nonchalantly and put on what I offered up as usual. As she dressed I began to have second thoughts. This was all wrong. Surely I should be encouraging her to express her individualism not endorsing stereotypes. This is a girl who loves to get dirty, wear wellies and slay dragons. A girl who would never brush her hair if not forced to under threat of having her stegosaurus taken off her. What was I doing fixing glittery pink fairy wings to her back?
Whilst giving serious thought to a complete wardrobe change and wondering if burning a bra in the back garden would be going too far, Finje brought me up short. Looking down at herself all dolled up in her finery she appeared to come to a decision. Stomping off with frankly far from fairy like deportment, she returned with her Doc Martens.
"I sink these vud make me feel besser." (The accent is a work in progress)
Me too baby. Me too.