Francis to Frances

"Quite delicate," Martha agreed, "Do you shave?"

"Sure, most weeks," I agreed, again my light hair colour meant even if I tried to grow a beard you couldn't hardly see it.

"You have the look of cousin Esmee about you," May agreed, "Willowy and flat chested, poor girl, I see we are going to have to feed you up."

"I guess," I said.

"May, he's a boy," Martha hissed.

"I meant Esmee poor girl," May said, "Not Frances."

"Oh, I thought," Martha said in a whisper, "With some lipstick."

"And rouge," May agreed.

"With that long straggly girly hair," Martha agreed, "Styled nicely."

"If he wore shorts maybe?" May suggested.

"Woah!" I protested.

"It would be much easier," Martha suggested.

"It's a lovely soft bed," May agreed.

"You want me to dress like a girl?" I asked.

"Um, yes, would you mind terribly?" Martha asked.

"Only shorts when you're not wearing jeans," May said, "Just a touch of lipstick."

"It would be so much easier," Martha agreed.

"No way!" I protested.

"But you said you would do anything!" Martha reminded me.

"I meant chores!" I explained.

"Well think of this as a chore," May chuckled, "I'll get my powder compact."

I looked at Martha, "You're not serious surely?" I asked.

"My sister is very religious," Martha said, "She idolises Pastor Taylour, it's best to humour her."

"Ok," I agreed, "I wouldn't want to make it awkward for her," I sighed, "But you can't expect me to be a girl."

"Oh don't be silly," Martha said, "What ever must you think of us, no it's just for Pastor Taylour and Mrs Baxter from across the street."

"Ok," I agreed.