Dear Editor,

It was my mother who first set in train the unlikely sequence of events which led to my present happy position.

We were sitting at home one night finishing off a dress, that I was making for myself with her help, when I idly commented how much easier it would be if we had a dressmaker’s dummy on which to complete our work. We reluctantly came to the conclusion that it was something we couldn’t really afford with our limited resources, and my mother bitterly remarked that it would help if Paul, my husband, didn’t spend so much time and money down at the pub with his mates, as indeed he was at that time. After a few moments mother looked up smiling whimsically, and said, “That’s the answer of course, Paul is much the same size as you, with a little padding in the right places he could solve the problem and be your model, and he wouldn’t have so much time to spend down the pub!”

I laughed, replying that there was no way I could see him doing that, but Mummy now had the bit between her teeth. “Of course he can, with all the scrimping and saving you do, making your own clothes to save on the family budget, that’s the very least he can do – either that or he’ll have to forfeit some of his nights out to pay for the dummy!” I was very unconvinced, but Mummy insisted that she would stay until he returned and help me make the point to him.

Sure enough, on Paul’s return, Mummy very forcibly explained the position to him. He laughed at first, dismissing the suggestion out of hand, but we persisted, Mummy making it clear that if he was not prepared to assist in this small way the considerable financial support she provided us would be stopped, and then he would notice a very different lifestyle. At this he, rather to my surprise, grudgingly agreed to help out occasionally.

Over the next few weeks, at Mummy’s suggestion, I started slowly and just got him to slip on a skirt a couple of times to adjust the length. It was immediately noticeable, to my great surprise, how embarrassed and compliant he became when wearing a skirt, I soon got the impression he would do anything I asked to get quickly out of the shaming feminine garment! When I mentioned this to Mummy she smiled knowingly, and remarked that we’d hardly started! I explained to her that I was anticipating a problem that evening as I was making my summer dresses and needed to get him into the right shape for a full dressing, and I couldn’t see Paul agreeing to it. Mummy eagerly offered to come round and support.

Sure enough, when I explained to Paul that evening that I needed him to wear a suitably padded corselette to be the right form for fitting a dress, he refused point blank. We were still arguing when Mummy let herself in. When she asked what the problem was she flew into such a towering rage as I’d never seen – she really laid into him, I almost felt sorry for him! Eventually, faced with such a formidable onslaught he weakened, and muttering something about “just this once”, allowed us to lead him upstairs, where I produced the corselette, whilst Mummy added a pair of dark stockings and a pink full slip. When he queried the need for the stockings and petticoat, Mummy silenced him with a withering stare, and brusquely told him to get them on and get downstairs quickly unless he wanted her to dress him herself!

As we waited in the lounge for Paul to struggle into the unfamiliar garments, Mummy briefed me that we must be totally firm, that he was starting to accept our authority, and that if we let him off the hook now all our efforts would be in vain. She further told me that whatever she said to Paul, however odd it may seem, I should just go along with it. I was about to ask what she meant when with that the door opened and Paul appeared looking a real picture. The corselette gave him all the right curves, and the petticoat rustled prettily about his stockinged knees. He looked totally, abjectly, embarrassed, and had Mummy’s words not been still fresh in my ears I might well have taken pity on him. However, before I could muse on this, Mummy grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the middle of the room – again I was amazed at how compliant he was – and looked him up and down, “That’s better” she said, “you’ll soon get used to all this,” she laughed, straightening his petticoat, and he looked mortified!

The first dress, though I say it myself, was one of my better efforts, and purely by chance could not have been much more suited to making a male wearer feel totally ridiculous! Designed for me to wear to an impending christening, it was a lovely pink floral design with a knee-length skirt, a high collar and puffed sleeves with white lace at the collar and cuffs. He looked in despair as it was pulled over his head and zipped into place. I thought he was going to burst into tears at one point as we fiddled and adjusted endlessly. We had him stand on a low chair as we adjusted the hem, and Mummy teased him constantly, saying how pretty he looked, then he had the added humiliation of having to wait in his undies as we took the dress to the machine to make the final alterations before putting it back on him. Mummy then insisted that he walk around the room to ensure the dress “hung properly” before ordering him back to stand in the centre of the room. “Hmm perfect,” she said, “this is such a good design; we need to be able to reproduce this.”

I was very surprised by what happened next. Picking up her bag Mummy produced a camera, ordering Paul to stand up straight. He was horrified and started to protest, but was quickly silenced, “Don’t be stupid, we need pictures as a pattern if Sarah wants to make this dress again.” I didn’t know what she was talking about, but, remembering her earlier instructions, said nothing and sat quietly as she ordered him into various poses, “to get the dress from all angles”. Eventually he was ordered to carefully remove the dress, and hurried upstairs to divest himself of his hated undies unless, as Mummy said with a wicked smile, “he’d grown so fond of them that he wanted to keep them on.”

“What on earth was all that about?” I asked. “Taking the photos I mean, I don’t know that we need them, but if we did surely it would have been better to take them with me in the dress.”

Mummy smiled enigmatically and patted her camera “You’ll see dear” she said, “I think this little camera will help to make this evening change your life!”

I was a little surprised the following Friday evening, one of Paul’s regular ‘pub nights’, when Mummy visited, arriving as Paul was upstairs changing to go out. As he came down rushing about in his usual hurry to get out, Mummy stopped him in his tracks, “I don’t think you should go out tonight Paul,” she said firmly. “The kitchen’s in a real mess and I think it would be nice if you stayed in and cleaned it up to give Sarah a break.”

Paul laughed and said she must be joking. “No, I’m very serious, and before you laugh at my suggestion I think you should take a look at these”, she said, producing from her bag, to his, (and my) astonishment, the photos of him modelling my dress the previous week.

Paul went bright red. “Oh, the patterns” he mumbled, “What about them?”

Mummy smiled wickedly, “Well, I think you look really cute in them, and I’m sure all your friends down the pub would think so too, and they’ll see them if you don’t start to pull your weight around here.”

Paul turned to me “You wouldn’t…” he started to bluster, but Mummy interrupted him “I don’t know if Sarah would or not, but in this case I know what’s best for her, and believe me, I certainly will – things are going to change round here unless you want these pretty pictures to become very public, my boy. Now, get in the kitchen!”
There was silence for a moment as Paul (and I, but from a very different perspective) considered this astonishing turn of events, then, with a defeated look, he took off his jacket and started towards the kitchen. With a wide smile on her face, Mummy said “Just a minute, you’ll need this.” and from her bag produced a nice frilly pink and white pinafore, into which she briskly tied the stunned Paul. “There, that’s much better; you’ll be needing a pinnie so I bought you one as a little present.”

Since that day Mummy’s prediction that my life would change for the better has been proved very true. I now have a docile, obedient husband who is a great help around the house, and an attentive and capable lover, not the selfish and impatient lothario he was before. His regular assistance with my dressmaking is often photographed, so that we now have quite a collection, kept by Mummy for safe-keeping. He lives in fear of exposure, and is kept busy at my beck and call most evenings and weekends, always wearing one of the several pinnies that we have now provided for him, which embarrasses him enormously when we have callers. This is quite useful in keeping him in order because, as I frequently remind him when he complains (he is never allowed to remove his pinnie before answering the door etc), how much more embarrassing would it be if people saw him pictured in petticoats and dresses!

Mummy is now really winding him up by saying that as I now have a pretty good wardrobe, and need to spend less time making my own clothes as I can now buy more with the money he is not spending down the pub, we should make him his own housemaid’s uniform, as he would look much nicer in it than just wearing a pinnie. I don’t know whether we’ll do this, but I think we might, and it’s great fun just watching him squirm at the thought of it!

If you have a troublesome man around the house, use your ingenuity and trap him into petticoats – the results will change your life!
Yours sincerely,

Ms. S.J.