Jon panicked. "J-just a minute!" he stammered, but the person knocking payed no mind to his shout and came in anyway.
The open door revealed his mother, holding a pile of clothes. "I told you, Jon, it's fine if you want to be like your cousin, you don't need to confine yourself to your room when you want to play like a little girl." She hung up a great number of frilly dresses in the closet. Jon noticed a great deal of the closet was filled with pink. "And why are you still dressed in that? I told you yesterday that once you got home, you'd have to change into something fancier, we've got to go to your aunt's birthday party."
Jon had completely forgotten. Yes, his mother had told him to dress up for his aunt's birthday party that night (Zoe was exempt because she was allergect to cats, and their aunt's house was always covered in cat fur), but the thought of wishes had made him completely forget nearly everything else. "I.. er..." Jon stammered.
His mother looked at him. "Oh, I see," she said, "you want me to change you again." Jon tried to stammer out a response. "It's okay," his mother stopped him, "I know this is part of being like your cousin, and I'm perfectly fine with it." She lifted the dress over Jon's head and tossed it into the hamper by the door. She then walked over to the closet and shuffled around inside until she seemed to have found what she was looking for, returning to Jon. "Here, how about this one, sweetie? The one Karyn gave you for your birthday." She held a very frilly pink dress that seemed would only reach down to Jon's knees. "Such a sweet girl, she knew exactly what you wanted." She chuckled. "I remember you wore this the very next day, and we went roller skating, and you fell head over heels. You were bawling so hard, but it was so cute." She giggled. "Here, you can wear this petticoat underneath." She held up what looked like a very wide and fluffy ball of frills turned into a skirt. Before Jon could argue, the dress was over his head.
Minutes later, a slightly distraught Jon, wearing the pink dress that, aided by the petticoat, only came down to the middle of his thigh, was being led by the hand out to the car, the slight tap of his shiny black shoes with a slight heel sounding with every step, though not as loudly as the clack of his mother's black three-inch heeled sandals.
