Boys Will Be Boys

This is the kind of stuff you're supposed to photograph and put away to trot out on prom night to your child's utter mortification. I don't have photographic evidence yet, but the X-Man is going through a heavy princess phase. It's priceless.

We've watched some of the old school princess movies. I confess I love all of it and welcome an excuse to visit the weirdly violent and distorted world of Sleeping Beauty and Snow White. Fairy tales are just so macabre and bizarre--even the cleaned up Disney versions (although Angela Carter is more fun). And I can see why a kid--any kid, boy or girl--would be more drawn to the princesses. Despite all the cultural critique against Disney and the princess market, any princess in any story is more compelling and interesting than the prince. I don't care who saves whom with a kiss--does anyone remember the name of the prince in Snow White? But I digress.

So ages ago I snapped up a few well-worn princess dresses from a thrift store. They are pretty tatty but X has been donning them every day for the past week to get his princess jones on. I felt sorry for him squeezing into the too-small, faux-Cinderfella gear. So yesterday at the consignment store I found a really nice, fully Disney-branded Snow White ensemble (with detachable collar and cape) for him. I have to say, it's gorgeous. I would wear it--if it were in my size and I had dark hair. Yes, I am living vicariously.

So last night he put on a "princess show" for the whole family. It doesn't consist of much yet, although he's working in a bit with a poison comb and poison apple and his fainting is getting quite impressive. He clomps around on the purple plastic heels ("it's kind of hard but I can manage") and tap dances a bit, then faints. Mr. sat smiling at X and rolling his eyes at me muttering, "must you encourage this?" under his breath.

Tonight we were all piled in the car heading home from the new taqueria (La Corneta--very good by the way) and X in the back seat says "I'm going to paint my nails with a pen. They'll look so pretty" and then began humming "dum, de dum, dum dum." If he broke into something from West Side Story the whole scene would have been complete.

Here's the thing I keep trying to get across to the Mr.--wearing princess clothes when you're almost five doesn't mean you're gay. It might--it could be that X will grow up and fly the rainbow flag. Or he could grow up to be an executive transvestite. But most likely he'll grow up to be a kid who used to wear princess dresses when he was little. My big brother dressed up in my sister's patent leather shoes and hula skirt and cried when our mom had his curls cut off. At the heart of the whole thing is that I don't give a damn, and I don't think the Mr. should either. Yeah, yeah, I'm imposing my perspective on the Mr., but in this case I'm right. Gay, straight, purple, spotted--it doesn't matter to me as long as my kids are happy. What does matter? Can the X-Man go off to college and do his own laundry? Do his culinary skills extend beyond the microwave? Is he a gracious winner and a graceful loser? Can he do the fox trot? Make someone laugh? What he's wearing when he does all that? I don't give a flying fig.