Ugh. Femininity is so clean and fresh and attractive. It doesn’t at all involve soaking your underwear in the sink or overloading one of those super-absorbent overnight pads in a couple hours, or aches that make it almost impossible to get comfortable, and above all, it never ever involves sitting on the toilet and looking down at something on the floor that looks like nothing so much as a thumb-sized chunk of black raspberry Jell-O, and realizing, oh, hey, that’s a piece of my uterus.

I WOULD LIKE TO BE A BOY NOW, IF THAT’S OKAY WITH EVERYONE.