And now for something completely different.
Am I really who I say I am? None of you have ever met me. Am I a creation of my own making, a project of my inner Pygmalion? Is the face that smiles back at you me, or am I actually an eighty year old Polish woman wearing a babushka smelling invitingly of stuffed cabbage and pierogi? Admit it, you can’t really be sure.
Or can you? There is one thing for certain, my friends, I write like a girl. The color of my cocktail seeps through the pages, pooling into a pretty, pink puddle. It’s delicious, I must admit. I am not able to feel like a man, and I have never wanted to be one. There is only one exception – a cameo as a big, burly hockey player, smashing opponents into the boards and scoring the winning goal. But I digress. Continue reading “Gender Bender”