Real men don't wear pink.

It's a Wednesday afternoon - maybe 2 o'clock - and my friend Will (who I've decided not to leave nameless in this piece) has skipped down the stairs of a New York brownstone. We have left our small group and are making our way to the train. It is gorgeous out; still too cold to go without a jacket, but apparently nice enough to skip down the stairs.

I am waiting for Chris at the top of the stairs and I watch Will looking around for the garbage bin. I see the bin, but am enjoying my lofty position and Will's determined pursuit. He is peeking over someone's stone wall, looking around the gate, slinging the white plastic bag full of Chris' bathroom undesirables all over the place. (Luckily it was a Hefty Hefty Cinch Sack.)

He looks up at me and notices my smirk. "Do you know where the trash bin is?" he asks accusingly.

I divert the question and ask him if he has a sister. He then admitted to the fact that not only did he have an older sister, but she enjoyed making his youth miserable, especially by forcing him to play "dress-up", (a game I've always loved). I couldn't help but smile. Here is a grown, married man, frolicking around the sidewalk and shouting his cross-dressing experiences up to me... Not his strongest hetero-moment.

***

I can't help but think back to putting my little brother through the same torture. Barbies were great, but Matt?! Now that's a doll for you! I would take Mom's old dresses and find the perfect look for him: business wear, casual, stripes, heels, etc. I would don something too, - a dress, some blue eye shadow, (okay LOTS of blue eyeshadow) - but nothing was more exciting than seeing my brother's bowl cut accentuated with a sash tied around the head, or his pout marked with bright red lipstick.

He would oppose to the entire game, of course. I can still hear his quiet little whimper, "Sissy, do we have to play this again? I don't like wearing dresses. What if somebody sees me?"

However, he was dealing with the Propoganda Queen and I would promise to play trucks or build a fort or play Atari later... anything to get us through the make-over. (Just as I had no sister, he had no brother, so these deals worked at the time.)

This got me in loads of trouble with my dad. "He's a boy!" our macho father would say. "Go outside and play, Matthew. Alecia, I've told you and told you that your brother is a boy. Matthew, get back in here and change clothes first! You can't climb a tree in your mother's dress! Agh! Alecia Kaye..."

Now, this man has assumed that I am ignorant of my brother's gender. (I am totally aware that he is a boy: No. 1. He definitely has cooties. No. 2. He hates My Little Pony - of course he's a boy.) I just needed someone to play dress-up with and he was the logical choice. I mean, Bobbie Jo was still a baby and Mom never looked miserable enough in her make-up. Nope. Little brothers are the just the best targets when it comes to this sort of thing.

***

Chris finally comes downstairs and the three of us head to the train. I've got to work a pretty long shift, but man, I'd give anything for another lazy afternoon at home with nothing to do but force my little brother into shoulder pads and pencil skirts. Ahhh, those were the good ol' days indeed.