Do you remember Gigi?
Do you recall her colt-like enthusiasm,
Her awkward grace,
Her charming innocence?
Do you remember Tomboys?
Those girls, in 'our day',
Who were described as 'betwixt and between",
'All arms and legs',
'Little ugly ducklings'?
Do you recall their gangliness,
Their bony knees covered in bruises,
Their hair bobbed into a 'pudding-basin' shape?
That was what it was called in those days.
"Your Greta has certainly blossomed'
One mother would say to another.
And everyone knew what was meant.
In the fulness of time Gigi became a woman.
In the fulness of time our Tomboy became the toast of the town.
In the fulness of time……..
But now time has no fulness to arrive at.
That time between childhood and womanhood
Has been filled-in
In a sort of paint-by-numbers,
Sort of way.
Our Tomboy sports painted toe-nails,
And all the accessories required by today's
(heaven help us!)
Perky little bras adorn
Very non-perky little chests.
These young girls will blossom, too,
No doubt about it.
Eventually Nature will catch-up with fantasy.
But at what price?
There will be no hesitant little ballerina
Emerging from the wings,
Pristine, shiny, new.
There will be no universal gasp
At the transformation.
'Been there, done that.'
The eyes will be less wide,
The skin will be less dewy,
The breathlessness will be less thrilling.
And the tutu will be grubby and crumpled.
Come back, Gigi!