J is for Josie

"Hello Dad. Well - what do you think?"

And this time Dad had looked surprised. His eyebrows rose -- he nearly smiled.

"Wow, Joseph."

That was all he said. He paused.

"You said I'd need to do more makeup and wear Mum's clothes. So I thought I'd give it a try. Well?"

Dad realised he had to say something. I mean, there I was, his son, standing there dressed in his wife's clothes and I think looking an awful lot like her. Which is almost exactly what Dad said.

"You certainly do look an awful lot like her, Joseph. I like the shoes."

Now quite why he said that I'm still not sure. Maybe he thought that wearing high-ish heels was a significant departure from the norm.

"And have you got a stuffed bra inside there, Joseph?"

OK, another departure. I pulled the sweater up to show Dad, then I spent a few minutes walking round the room and 'posing' for him. I thought I'd better do something about the dinner like I always did on a Friday.

"OK Dad, shall I go and change new?"

"Er - OK then, Joseph, sure."

So I did. I had got the slight opinion, when I'd asked Dad about changing, that he'd seemed just a little reluctant. OK so it was a weird thing for me to do but maybe he didn't mind, maybe he actually liked it in a way. And it was when we discussed it briefly a bit later that I got that opinion again.

"Look, Joseph, you obviously like dressing up and so on. So how about getting really dressed up and doing the 'Italian'? The Friday after next?"

"OK then. Good idea."

I didn't ask about it. I didn't need to. I knew exactly what Dad meant. We'd often done that in the other house and a couple of times after moving, me and Dad and Mum before she'd left. Dressing in best clothes and Dad bringing home an up-market Italian take-away from one of the restaurants in town, and us sitting down at the table with the best dinner service, and wine and all the trimmings.